


Power Jam: A Roller Derby Love Story

by isthisclever



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Largely fluff, Modern AU, Roller Derby, Women's Sports, but I'm doing it anyway, maybe mild drama/angst to keep things interesting, the pandemic ruined my roller derby season and this is how I'm coping, this is my first modern AU and I have no idea what I'm doing so let's see what happens, this might be trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:53:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisclever/pseuds/isthisclever
Summary: Jamie Fraser would rather be anywhere but in a hot, crowded warehouse watching a sport he's never heard of on what's supposed to be his night off. Until he spies a certain Edinburgh player with curly brown hair and golden eyes who captivates him from the first whistle.He absolutely must meet that skater.(Also known as: COVID ruined my first playing season of roller derby so I'm living vicariously through my favorite Sassenach and Highlander.)
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 303
Kudos: 218





	1. Notes / A Derby Primer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Outlander characters belong to Diana Gabaldon.

So with the current global lockdown, roller derby has been essentially canceled for the year. It's already been more than six months since I've played with my team and I really miss derby, so I'm channeling my sadness into a Claire and Jamie roller derby-tastic fic.

**A few notes and disclaimers for those unfamiliar with the sport that will be helpful as you read the first chapter and beyond.**

Roller derby is a competitive contact sport played on quad skates (four wheels in a square as opposed to rollerblades, wheels in one straight line). It is largely a female-dominated sport, though not exclusively. As a whole, derby is also a highly inclusive and progressive community, welcoming people from varied backgrounds as well as LGBTQ+ persons.

The game is played in a counter-clockwise direction on a oval-shaped track; think like a running track but smaller. In general, games are staffed by about seven or eight referees on both the outside and inside of the track. Each jammer (the scoring player) is assigned a referee whose sole job is to watch their jammer and calculate points scored.

If players receive penalties, they sit out 30 seconds in the penalty box. If a jammer receives a penalty, it is known as a power jam since the opposing jammer is the only one able to score points for the length of the penalty.

The jam clock and game clock are different things. You'll see in the first chapter that, though the game clock runs out mid-jam, the jam continues either to its natural conclusion or until it's called off by the lead jammer. Lead jammer (whoever is first to escape the pack) has the ability to end the jam, which comes in handy as you can rack up as many points as possible then end the jam before your opponents get to score.

Players also traditionally choose "derby names," a tough-sounding pun, to serve as their alter-ego on the track. Again, it's not universal and more players have opted to use their real names recently, but derby names are a fun way to create your own derby persona in the community and have a bit of fun. You'll see many examples in the story to come.

> **If you're interested in basic gameplay,[this is a short video](https://youtu.be/sFC6YE8zLmY) explaining how the game works. I'll try not to lean too heavily on super niche descriptions of the game -- for me, it's more the atmosphere that matters for the story -- but knowing some basics may help understand the story and world better.**

[This handy guide](https://wftda.com/the-game/) by the Women's Flat Track Derby Association is also helpful!

I'm US-based and am on a very small rec team. I do not believe rules or customs vary greatly between the US and Scotland/rest of the world, but if there are any discrepancies, I apologize. I'm also fairly new to this community -- this would have been my second year and my first playing season -- so I may make mistakes or get things wrong, but I'm doing my best to be as true to life in gameplay, rules, and atmosphere as possible. 

**I also know nothing about Scottish teams, players, etc.; it's set in Scotland because _Outlander_ , but I'm kinda flying blind here. Any similarities to actual people, teams, players, etc. are purely coincidental. I am in no way partnered with or affiliated with any Scottish roller derby teams or players.**

I also am not affiliated with the Women's Flat Track Derby Association and do not in any way speak for them.

That all said, roller derby is awesome, and there's truly a role for anyone who wants to give it a try. Even if you've never skated before (the literal first thing I did after putting skates on my first practice was fall on my ass...so don't worry, you can be taught!) or aren't interested in skating /contact (we always need non-skating officials -- NSOs -- for games!). So if this sounds like a community you're interested in, no matter your gender or gender identity, you should look into possible teams and leagues in your area.

Phew, all right. That was a lot. Now on to enjoy the fic! (First chapter coming momentarily, if it's not posted yet.)


	2. Sass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie goes to his first roller derby bout and encounters a certain curly-haired Sassenach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Claire being a general badass, I thought she seemed like she'd be a kickass roller derby player. And Jamie would totally eat it up. And since I haven't been able to play with my team in six months (thank you, 2020), this is how I'm getting through the constant disappointment. 
> 
> I'll always make a point to explain any knowledge necessary in the end note.
> 
> This is my first modern AU and, y'all, it's like way harder to write!! PLUS I'm writing about a sport and game I love for the first time. I hope I'm able to write it in a way that's both interesting and easy to understand...we'll see how this goes. I'd be interested in your honest feedback. 
> 
> Thank you, lovelies!

"Next whistle starts the jam!"

As Jamie Fraser pushed open the door, the noise nearly knocked him off his feet. Shouted conversations and booming music melded together in the echoing warehouse to create a cacophony of excitement that, for all its frenetic bluster, failed to infect his own mood. At the shriek of a whistle, the crowd began to cheer. Jamie belatedly covered his ears, sighing.

He was late. Apparently.

With a grimace, he pushed forward and began to mill through the crowd, eyes raking over the festivities. The sea of people blocked the track from view, but he heard the commentator giving a blow-by-blow of the action over the loudspeaker. He paid it no mind.

A discontented sigh rattled in his chest. The day had been long, and Jamie had little desire to spend his evening hours amidst strangers watching a sport he'd never even heard of.

 _I suppose there are worse ways to be the clock_ , he thought to himself, attempting to curb his annoyance at both his uncles. The one who'd landed them all in hot water to begin with, and the one who'd demanded Jamie's presence here tonight to assess possible avenues of damage control.

A pair of women walked by holding plastic cups filled with foamy beer.

_Well, if I have to be here, may as well be buzzed._

Tension pulled at his shoulders, and he rolled them up and back to release it as he set out in search of the drinks table. Edging through eager fans, Jamie reached the line and winced as a set of four rapid-fire whistle blasts echoed through the space to cheers and howls. Craning his head toward the track -- oval-shaped with a handful of zebra-striped officials camped out in the middle and around the perimeter -- he watched an exchange of skaters as some exited the track and a new group hurried on, huddling into position.

"Just the one, then?"

The voice jerked him back to the queue. An English accent in Edinburgh. Strange. Perhaps not as strange as in decades and centuries past, but still rare enough so as to warrant a quick flick of an eyebrow as he approached the table.

Taking a look at the voice's owner, though, Jamie found that his response evaporated from his lips. Tall, fair, dark curls pulled into two braids over each shoulder. The slender nose and full, rosy lips turned up in a polite smirk. But her eyes... _ah, Dhia,_ the exact shade of his favorite whisky, bold and alluring with hints of darker gold throwing the light. Heavy glitter eye makeup only made them seem to glow brighter. Even in the scant seconds he gazed into them, Jamie dreaded the moment he'd have to turn away. Their color would be burned in his brain for the rest of the night, he was sure.

"Aye." A flush heated his ears. His noticing the warmth creeping up his neck and face only made them burn hotter. She wore a blue jersey, her pale, toned arms bare as she poured him a plastic cup of beer from a cooler.

"Six pounds," she said, handing it over.

"A bit pricey, is it no'?" he asked before thinking as he pulled out his billfold. If his face burned any hotter, he'd be steaming. But the Sassenach chuckled and nodded.

Christ, her cheeks turned such a lovely shade of pink when she smiled.

"Indeed it is," she smirked at him. "But it's for a good cause. All the proceeds from concessions this season go to our charity partner, the Children's Medical Fund of Scotland. You could even leave a little something extra, if you feel so inclined," she added, gesturing to a pitcher filled with banknotes further along the table.

Jamie nodded before succumbing to the first real smile he'd felt on his face all evening -- all day, in fact -- as he handed over the money. "Well, thank ye, then," he said. As he walked away, he found himself already missing that golden hue. Before departing, he added an extra bill to the pitcher.

Bodies pressed together around the oval-shaped track, packed so tightly he had to elbow his way through to find a spot to stand. As he claimed a free spot against the wall, he kept the Sassenach still in view, and the noise seemed to fade away.

Jamie was stupefied. Which, in turn, made him feel ridiculous. He hadn't been struck dumb just by a lass's presence since his school days; he was far too old for it to be happening now.

Of course, the years of his self-imposed bachelorhood likely didn't help matters.

He watched as her curly head reared back in laughter at whatever her teammate beside her said. Far away and out-volumed as she was, no hint of her laugh met his ears, but he imagined what it sounded like. And that she was laughing beside him. At something he'd said.

Jerking back, Jamie cast his eyes around as though caught, like his thoughts had been on display.

 _Focus, lad_ , he chided himself. _Yer here for a reason._

Shaking his head to dispel images of the curly-haired Sassenach, Jamie began to focus on the game, taking mental note of the environment. The crowd was diverse but largely skewed thirties and younger. And a lot of women, though Colum had explained as much (and not much else) when commanding Jamie to scope out the Edinburgh roller derby scene. For what he wagered was a somewhat below-the-radar sport, it certainly had its share of devotees.

Craning his head, he turned toward the track. He'd only seen two or three rounds -- or _jams_ , as one of the officials kept announcing before blasting the whistle each time -- when the clock ran out and the game was apparently finished.

"Aaaaaand that's the final whistle, folks!" came the voice over the loudspeaker before announcing scores and player statistics.

Confused, Jamie checked his watch. He'd thought the game wasn't even supposed to start for another 15 minutes. Leaning over to a short blonde woman in a black t-shirt a few feet away, he asked, "I thought it wasn't startin' till nine?"

The woman looked up at him with wide blue eyes, her lips turning up at the corners as she stood a little taller, arms pulled behind her as she minutely arched her back. "Oh, aye," she replied. "That was just the newbie bout."

"Newbie bout?"

She nodded. "Players who've just started out or havena yet passed all the skills tests needed to join the main team," she explained in a breathy tone. "Sort of like a scrimmage?" Her pitch rose at the end as if it were a question, even though, between them, he was the clueless one.

"Oh, aye," Jamie responded, nodding once with a taut smile. "Thank ye."

The blonde bobbed her head in a rapid nod. "O' course. If ye have any other questions, don't be shy."

Before Jamie could smile politely and ignore the lass, the MC named the skater Holly Go Fightly as the MVP jammer. Groaning, he turned back to the blonde.

"What's wi' the names, then?" Jamie asked as the MVP herself skated to the center of the track. He tried not to lean in too close, hoping to convey that he was lost and looking for signposts only. Nothing more.

She didn't seem to get the memo.

"Oh, that's part of the tradition!" she fawned, stepping close enough that her arm nearly brushed his. Not bothering to hide his annoyance, Jamie took a step away, but she continued. "Ye pick a 'derby name,' ken. Usually a pun or play on words. Somethin' that sounds tough. 'Tis like your alter ego when yer playin'."

One slow nod in understanding, a slight raise of his cup in thanks, and Jamie turned his attention back to the empty track.

"Never been before, then?" she asked as she closed the distance again, clearly eager to continue chatting. Jamie, however, was in no mood. With a single nod, he lifted his plastic cup to his lips and took a long sip, ignoring the blonde at his elbow in favor of the warm, mediocre brew. Luckily, she didn't try to engage in further conversation but stood awkwardly at his side, rocking on the balls of her feet. When the announcer came over the loudspeaker to announce that all referees and NSOs (whatever that was) needed to meet in the center of the track, the blonde cast him a last hopeful glance before walking that way.

More minutes passed, and Jamie watched as the crowd milled about, refilling snacks and drinks between games. Fresh skaters took their places on the team benches along the outside of the track. Looking that way, his heart leapt to see two curly pigtails in a blue jersey gliding past. Jamie ran his fingers through his own russet curls, this time not fighting the airy feeling in his center as he watched her set down her water bottle then take to the track to warm up with her teammates.

For ten minutes, the players skated laps, stretched, and performed basic drills before the official commencement time. And never once did his eyes stray from the Sassenach.

"Good evenin', ladies and gents," the smooth baritone finally called in excitement over the speakers. "'Tis nearly time to begin the main event tonight, but first you gotta meet the teams, starting with our visitors tonight, the Inverness Wreckers!" A dozen or so green-clad players in roller skates took to the track in a large group, waving and smiling to the crowd. They bent over double, skating close together in a slow group as the loudspeaker announced each player's number and derby name, at which point the mentioned player would straighten and raise their hands into the air with a brief wave before bending down again.

Jamie nodded as the last player, Fleetwood Smack, straightened and waved to the crowd. The green team then skated and lined up on the far edge of the track as the announcer prepared for the next team.

"All right, Edinburgh, put yer hands together now for your home team, the Reekie Rollllleeeeers!"

Just as the previous team had, the new group in deep blue jerseys glided onto the track then bent double for each player to be introduced. Jamie watched and listened more carefully this time.

She was the sixth player called.

"And give it up for Number 743, Sass N Whack!" She stood tall then, arms raised and face beaming. The curly bobs brushed her shoulders beneath her helmet, and he could see the bright blue of her mouth guard as she smiled toward the crowd.

Surprised, Jamie found himself cackling as she bent back down for the next player to enjoy their moment in the spotlight.

So she had a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor. And wasn't afraid to take the piss out of herself. He liked that.

As the final players enjoyed their introductions, he kept his eyes trained on Sass N Whack and suddenly wished he knew her real name.

Then it was game time. Smaller groups from each team met together on one of the long straightaways just before him. The game mechanics weren't too difficult to pick up after a few rounds: A player with a star on their helmet (the Jammer) would fight their way through the rest of the players (the Pack) and lap them all to score points for up to two minutes at a time (a Jam). The skaters in the pack had to both block the opposing jammer on each pass and help their own jammer through to score.

The crowd whooped and hollered at each block, hip-check, and jump. Jamie, though, watched with a detached interest. Truly the only time he felt half as invested as the rest of the vocal crowd was when a certain brown-haired Edinburgh player took to the track. His heart would flutter and he'd stand up straighter to see, flushing each time he did.

She was good; even he could tell that. Confident and sure on her feet. Most often, she came out as a part of the pack (a Blocker, according to the announcer). And more than once as the opposing jammer ( _the scorer_ , he reminded himself) made a break to escape the pack, she'd sprint after them, thrusting a shoulder or hip out to knock them out of bounds. The crowd would cheer, and Sass grin before rejoining the pack, ready to do it again.

Jamie found himself watching her skates more than anything else. Her feet moved with speed and agility, just as often sprinting on the circular toe stops as swiveling on her wheels to spin in place or skirt by other players in the space of only inches. And all the while, even as she pushed and huffed with exertion, the brightness shining from those whisky eyes drove him mad.

"And with only seventy-six seconds left in the game, this could well be our last jam. The score sits at Wreckers 167, and Rollers 158!" the MC shouted out over the loudspeakers. "Make sure you pay attention to our jammers, Number 98, Block Ness Monster for the Wreckers. And Sass N Whack, Number 743, lining up for the Reekie Rollers."

Novice roller derby spectator though he was, he knew immediately why she'd been sent out for possibly the final points of the game. She hadn't jammed often, obviously preferring the challenge of playing offense against the other team. But the handful of times she'd donned the star on her helmet, she'd proven difficult to stop, slithering by opponents or using surprising strength to muscle her way through clusters of blockers each time.

With such a close margin, the entire game rode on her shoulders.

"Next whistle starts the jam!" yelled an official in the center of the track, eyes trained on a stopwatch on his hand. Jamie saw Sass bent over, bouncing slightly in the knees in anticipation. Five seconds later, the official blew the whistle and chopped his arm through the air before stepping off the track.

Without hesitation, Sass sprinted on her toe stops for three steps using her shoulder to push up and forward to break apart a pair of green blockers. A fellow blue player came to offer assistance, and Sass N Whack made her way through. The final green blocker ahead of the pack kept her gaze over her shoulder, ready to head the Sassenach off. Sass feinted toward the inner line before juking at the last second to surf around the green player on the outside, taking off at a sprint to outdistance the blocker.

"And Sass N Whack is our lead jammer!" came the booming voice to various cheers. Lead jammer, Jamie had learned, meant that she could end the jam whenever she pleased, which, if she did so after the game clock ran out (in another sixty-one seconds), could end the game itself.

The green jammer struggled to escape the pack, remaining behind long after Sass had begun lapping for points. Over the next minute or so, Sass managed to gain eight points to the opposing team's four, bringing the score up to 171 to 166. With under a minute left, the green Jammer earned a penalty and skated to the penalty box.

" _Power jaaaaam_!" the announcer roared to the crowd's pleasure. "With Block Ness sittin' out her thirty-second penalty, Sass N Whack has control o' the track and the clock!"

Sass curved around the oval, eyes calculating as she approached the pack again.

Twenty-nine seconds.

With the other jammer temporarily out of commission, Sass's team focused solely on offense to get her through the opposing blockers. She dodged and rolled her way past three of them until there was just one left. With nowhere else to go, Sass made a beeline down the straightaway for the inside boundary just at the point where the track curved. A green blocker shot her way, ready to cut her off.

Jamie swore the next few seconds happened in slow motion. As the green blocker camped on the inside corner to block the way, Sass leaned further into her squat, pushing off in a flying leap at the last moment. Her legs pinwheeled beneath her as she cleared the blocker's legs. Face screwed up in determination, she landed inside the boundary line on her left skate, then her right on the other side of the blocker. She wobbled for a second then steadied herself with a visible sigh of relief. Eyes on her assigned referee, breathing heavy, Sass immediately tapped both hands repeatedly to her hipbones until four sharp whistle blasts ripped through the air in quick succession. The game ended with only nine seconds left on the jam clock.

"And Sass N Whack nails that apex jump and ends the jam!" The audience roared, and Jamie sat with wide eyes in absolute awe. "And that's the game, fans! Wi' a final score Wreckers 171 and Rollers 170, the Inverness Wreckers take the night!"

Even though her incredible last-minute aeronautics failed to secure them the win, Jamie could see that the curly-haired player was absolutely radiant. She rolled over to her teammates, and they all embraced with joviality. After a brief awards ceremony where each team elected the MVP Blocker and Jammer from the opposite team (and Jamie unabashedly swelling with pride when Sass was named MVP Blocker for the Rollers), spectators began to disband. Some waited around for players while others made straight for the exits, Jamie among the latter group until the loudspeaker voice made one last announcement for the evening.

"Be sure to join us at our after party down the road at Leoch Tavern startin' at 10:30 to share a drink wi' yer favorite players. Bring yer ticket stub for five pounds off any draft beer."

He'd been ready to bail and head for home, perhaps search and see if the team had a website where he may learn the brown-haired Sassenach's name. But at this, Jamie's heart leapt.

_Would she be there?_

"Aye," he breathed to himself, checking his watch as he headed toward the door. "I'm in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:
> 
> \- The Edinburgh team is the Reekie Rollers based on my Googling that one of Edinburgh's nicknames is Auld Reekie, dating back from the 18th century I believe. As far as I could see, it's a beloved moniker for the city, so....I hope that's the case. LOL
> 
> \- NSO = non-skating officials. These are your scorekeepers, your timers, penalty trackers, etc. They wear all black to designate them as such. 
> 
> \- As far as I know, the charity mentioned is completely fictional. But it's not uncommon for derby teams to partner with local philanthropies and charities in their area.


	3. Whack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie makes it to the after party. So does someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all genuinely for your amazing reactions to the first chapter of this story! I wasn't sure what to expect and am blown away by the encouragement and interest. I hope this world continues to drawn you in as much as it did me.

Leoch Tavern, upscale casual with an industrial warehouse vibe, boasted an impressive Saturday night crowd. The lighting, moderately dim with a warm orange glow, put Jamie at ease as soon as he walked in. Soft music piped throughout the building cultivated a relaxed mood without overpowering the senses. One wouldn't need to shout to have a conversation here.

Thinking about who he'd like to have a non-shouted conversation with made his head go fuzzy with nerves.

Looking around from the bar, Jamie recognized a handful of spectators from the warehouse and a few players milling about who'd arrived with the first wave. Some wore skates, some in street shoes.

No Sass N Whack yet, though.

With a closed-mouth sigh that rumbled from his throat, he ordered a Lagavulin neat. He leaned his elbows on the natural wood bar, tension stiffening his body like a board. Each passing moment, he got closer and closer to convincing himself to walk out and go home before he made a right fool of himself. Following a complete stranger here -- no, showing up here and merely _hoping_ said stranger would also come -- based on nothing more than...attraction?...lust?...just felt pathetic.

Resolving to finish his glass in the next two sips and escape with his pride largely intact, he caught a familiar accent down the bar.

"Two waters, please."

His heart sped at just those few syllables. As discreetly as he could, he cut his eyes in her direction. Mere feet away. Nearly as close as they'd been when she'd handed him the overpriced beer at the game. Her brown curls, now piled into a messy bun atop her head, looked even more wild after the game. Her face was still pink, gold glitter still shining over her cheekbones and around her eyes, making her glow with ease and confidence. Beneath the musk of exertion (which, far from repelling him, unhinged him in a way he tried to ignore), he smelled hints of vanilla and patchouli.

She waited, eyes trained carefully forward, as the barkeep fixed two glasses of water with ice.

The second she walked away, the door would close. Jamie knew that. He'd never approach her amidst her friends and teammates. This was the moment. His one and only shot. If she pulled away from the bar before he said a word, he may never know her real name. That, and downing the rest of his whisky, gave him the courage to turn in her direction.

"Can I ask a question?" he said, leaning slightly in her direction.

How the color bloomed and deepened across the apples of her cheeks sent a bolt of something hot and sharp straight through him. With a smirk and a turn to look at him, she nodded in invitation. Butterflies the size of pterodactyls erupted in his stomach, so strong his voice nearly shook as he spoke.

"I just wondered," he said, speaking slowly to control his nerves, "how many times ye heard that particular word muttered behind yer back before ye decided to adopt it fer yerself?"

It had been the question on his mind ever since hearing the moniker announced over the loudspeaker, wanting to know where that cheeky streak came from. Asking it aloud now, he felt like a complete tool. But her smile was kind. Her eyes -- damn him if it wasn't the exact shade of the whisky he'd just finished -- gleamed at him. "More than I can count," she admitted, shoulders still square to the bar but face and eyes trained on him. "You know, I'd heard a lot of talk before moving to Scotland about the creativity of Scottish insults, yet as soon as anyone hears me speak, it's _always_ the same. I'd be disappointed if it hadn't inspired what is truly the greatest derby name I've ever heard, if I say so myself."

A grin spread across his face without his permission. "Well, apologies on behalf of my countrymen, both for their rudeness and their predictability, then." Heart pounding, deep breath.

_Take the shot._

"Care for a drink in recompense?" He lifted his own empty glass in question.

Was it obvious he was holding his breath?

Sass dipped her eyes for just a moment to the bar top before looking back, a small smile still on her lips. "That's very gallant," she said. "Unfortunately, I'm still on wheels." She popped up her leg behind her in demonstration, a pair of bright turquoise skates with still-spinning purple wheels. Different from the black and whites she'd worn during the bout. "Booze and skates do not mix."

"Ah, wise, indeed," he conceded with as much grace as he could muster. The air between them seemed to vibrate, her body now angled ever so slightly towards him, his open completely in her direction.

One more try, then he'd accept his fate.

"In that case, I've heard the fish and chips here are second tae none," Jamie said, leaning more toward her and speaking confidentially. "Care for a nip?"

Awe seemed to spread across her features as her amber eyes widened and a grin creeped over her own face. Her waters sat forgotten before her, condensation already beginning to pool around the base of the glasses. Jamie watched her face intently. He feared it would be _too_ intently, but he couldn't tear his eyes from her for anything in the world as he awaited the verdict. Sass looked briefly away from the bar toward her teammates congregated around a cluster of high-top tables in the center before turning back to him. "Tell you what." She inched closer. "Fish and chips to split, and one of whatever you're having to drink, then meet me on the patio outside." A thin brown eyebrow arched in inquiry, the smirk back in place.

Jamie huffed out his relief and nodded once. "As ye wish," he said. As she made to roll past him, he touched her arm. They both seemed to start at the contact, but Jamie didn't let it deter him. "If I'm tae buy ye dinner, I should probably ken your real name."

 _Dhia_ , would he ever get tired of that smile? He prayed not.

"Claire Beauchamp."

"Jamie Fraser."

They paused, looking at each other in a never-ending heartbeat where the space surrounding them seemed muted and distant. After a few breaths, though, Claire pulled away. "Well, Jamie Fraser," she murmured, "all I can say is I hope for my own sake you have good taste in whisky."

#

Balancing two glasses of whisky and a paper boat of fish and chips on a tray, Jamie shouldered the door open. The concrete patio boasted several small iron tables surrounded by cozy chairs with oversized cushions. Hedges around the perimeter gave the area privacy, insulating it from the road and parking lot just on the other side. Besides the one patio light by the door, the only illumination came from strings of fairy lights and vintage-style city lights, casting a warm glow on everything it touched. It took his breath away to see.

And so did she. Sass -- _Claire_ \-- sat in a far corner of the outdoor patio. Only a few other people -- ordinary customers, not partygoers -- shared the space with them in the chilly early fall air. Jamie was grateful for it. Somehow, he doubted they'd have gotten much privacy if her mates were nearby.

Jamie approached and unloaded the tray onto the small table before her. "So how do ye intend to get around the 'no booze and wheels' issue, then?" he asked as he took his own seat and leaned back, crossing one ankle to rest on the opposite knee in a pose far more relaxed than he actually felt.

Claire rolled her whisky eyes and held up her skates. "I'll catch a ride home," she responded, setting the skates back down. Smirking, she leaned forward conspiratorially. "I figured outside would be a safer bet with taking them off. Open air and all that."

Only a breath of a hesitation before Jamie raised his hands before him. "Yer words, lass, no' mine."

To his relief, she threw her head back in an unrestrained laughing fit. "Is that how you normally charm the ladies, then? Buy them bar food then tell them they smell?"

"Hey, I never said any such words," he defended himself as he struggled to keep his own giggles at bay. "I just...didna lie tae ye, either."

"Well, it's part of the grand derby tradition," Claire insisted. "If you find yourself feeling faint, we can always sit six feet apart."

As they were, their chairs were angled toward each other and close enough that if he wanted -- and gathered the courage -- he could reach over and touch her arm without shifting his own weight.

"I've a stronger constitution than that, Sassenach."

"'Sassenach,' is it?" she asked, and Jamie wondered for a heart-stopping second if he'd stuck his foot in his mouth.

"Och, 'tis just what I called ye in my mind 'fore I knew yer name. I dinna mean anything by it."

Claire popped a fish nugget into her mouth, still grinning. "I'm teasing, Jamie. I...I like it." His pulse eased a bit as she finished chewing then asked, "Now, I would've seen you around if you'd been to a bout before. What brought you out tonight?"

Blood pinked his cheeks, and he sipped his drink to avoid her gaze. "Och, 'twas actually a work assignment."

"Oh?"

"Aye," he said. "I run PR for Mackenzie Distillery. And...well..."

"Ahh," Claire said, instant understanding dripping from the single, stretched-out syllable. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a certain Mackenzie and his...shall we say....questionable practices where his female employees are concerned?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. "Unfortunately, yes." Jamie took another sip and gauged her demeanor. Eyes sharp but a light smile -- natural, not forced, he determined -- gracing her lips.

Pink, full lips. Just a hint of moisture from where the whisky had kissed them.

"I dinna like tae claim them much," he went on, fiddling with a piece of fish before popping it in his mouth and swallowing it. "They're my uncles, ken? So when the issues wi' Dougal leaked, Colum immediately began searchin' for ways to restore public goodwill again." Jamie glanced to Claire, who regarded him with interest, as he picked his glass back up. "He's hopin' that if the Mack brand sponsors some women-run organizations that it'll help to that end."

She nodded her head slowly and took a long draw from her own glass. Embarrassed as he was to associate himself with either uncle, he couldn't help comparing her eyes to the glass held just inches away.

The hue was identical. His skin buzzed at the confirmation.

"Well," she crooned as she tucked her socked feet beneath her, "I hate to disappoint, but we tend to be fairly discerning about sponsors. Money talks to an extent, sure, but we take seriously who we align ourselves with." She furrowed one brow and shrugged. "I doubt the team will want to be the Band-Aid on Dougal Mackenzie's image problem."

"And who could blame ye?" he responded, smirking and popping another chip into his mouth.

"Does that mean you're writing tonight off as a business dinner, then?"

"Och, nae, lass," Jamie answered immediately. He put his foot on the ground to lean forward. "And have Dougal and Colum Mackenzie treatin' ye tonight? Never."

She glowed beneath the lights as she bit her bottom lip, eyes glancing downward for just a moment. A not-unpleasant anticipation descended on them, his stomach twisting with it, before Jamie motioned to her with his glass. "So that's my embarrassing work story. What about ye?"

"I'm a nurse," Claire answered after finishing another bite. "I work A&E at Royal Infirmary."

"High-stress job, I take it?"

"Very." But she was grinning.

"Ye love it, then?"

If possible, her smile grew, her eyes crinkling. She only nodded in response.

"So she thrives under pressure," Jamie mused out loud, sitting back in his chair with a cocked eyebrow. "Would never have guessed that, watchin' ye on the track tonight," he added, imbuing the words with clear sarcasm.

Claire rolled her eyes and settled further into the cushions of her chair. "I guess that's accurate," she allowed. "I've always just...gotten really zen in a crisis. The more everyone else around me panics, the calmer I feel." She shrugged her shoulders. "Serves me well day to day."

"What drew ye to nursin' specifically, then?" he asked as he ate a piece of fish then pushed the paper boat toward Claire, an invitation for her to finish the final pieces.

For just a second, her gaze fell to her lap, the corners of her mouth dropped. So quick that had he been taking a sip of his drink, he would've missed it. Before he could apologize, though, she'd perked back up. "Well, I've always been drawn to medicine. And when my uncle was sick a few years back, I just realized that...it fit."

She left it at that, and Jamie didn't pry. "Well," he said, leaning against the arm of the chair toward her, "I'm glad ye found a path that's fulfillin' for ye. 'Tis more than most."

"So you don't like your job, then?"

Christ, she was quick. Of course, he hadn't been subtle about it. Even as he shifted in his seat, nervous again, Jamie appreciated her forthrightness, how she spoke her mind and heard his own without judgment or timidity.

Jamie shrugged in answer. "I needed a job after uni. My uncles offered one. 'Tis a steady paycheck, and I'm decent at what I do." He sipped his drink. Probably only one left in the glass. "But, no, I dinna care too much fer it."

Whisky eyes watched him with fascination. Feet tucked beneath her, Claire leaned her chin into her hand, elbow resting on the arm of her chair. "So, then, money and real life aside, if you could pick any job to do, what would it be?"

Heart pounding, breath caught in his chest. The question wasn't even so very personal. But the way she looked at him as though attempting to read him like a book -- as though she _were_ reading him so easily -- disarmed him. The intensity of her attention raised goosebumps along his arms and the back of his neck. No false interest here. No overeager but ultimately empty chatter. She asked to know the answer. Because knowing the answer would mean she knew _him_ just that much more.

Which thrilled and terrified him in equal measure.

Jamie leaned toward her, voice lowered. "Easy answer. I'd do what my uncles do, but for myself. Make whisky. _Good_ whisky."

"Is that why you've stuck around with them so long, then? Because under it all, it's something close to your heart?"

He shrugged. "Partly."

"Do they not make _good whisky_ , then?"

A contemplative exhale rushed from him, and he looked away to think for a moment. "Maybe once it was," he allowed. "But 'tis more about profit margins now than craftin' somethin' special. They dinna view it as an art but a routine. Do what's worked in the past, get paid, and dinna go beyond that. 'Tis all mechanical and no heart."

He didn't share where he'd first learned his love of whisky, the man who'd taught him to appreciate subtleties in flavor and quality, guided him in his first experimentations with distilling. Likely for much the same reason Claire had skirted around the issue of her sick uncle. An optimistic part of his brain insisted that was a story for another meeting.

"On that note," Jamie held up his empty glass and motioned to hers. "Care for another?"

The debate warred across her face, emotions and thoughts passing across it with unambiguous clarity. Pleased though he was that she wanted to continue, he didn't want it to be a stress on her, either.

"Water, then?" he asked. Another glorious smile as her shoulders relaxed minutely and she nodded. Standing, he grabbed the empty glass from her, their fingers brushing together. Just as had happened when he touched her arm inside, the breath caught in his chest and something akin to fire burned beneath his skin.

When he returned with their waters, conversation continued to flow. Sitting with Claire, joking with her, bantering back and forth with exchanged smirks and glances felt so natural to him he was nearly dizzy with glee.

As much as he yearned to reach over and touch her again, Jamie kept his hand to himself. Only once did he do so, laughing nearly to the point of tears at a story she'd told about one of their last after parties. Forgetting himself, he'd wiped the tears with one hand and patted hers with his other. One heartbeat later, he'd pulled away sharply, red coloring his neck and ears. Neither had addressed it. After a pause, Claire had asked another question, and the moment had passed.

By the time Claire sighed and checked the time on her phone, Jamie was shocked to see that it was after one o'clock. "Christ, when did it get so late?" he breathed. They'd been alone on the patio for a while now, and through the windows Jamie could see only a handful of patrons and players still inside.

"Sometime in the past two hours, I wager," Claire teased, smiling. "I should get ready to head out soon..."

Jamie latched onto the reluctance in her voice, how despite the words she didn't rise from her seat. Stomach taut with anxiety and pulse racing, Jamie leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees and fingers folded together in the air before him. With conscious effort, he kept his grip light enough so his knuckles weren't white.

"Would it..." He cleared his throat, willing it not to waver. "Would it be too forward tae ask for yer number, take ye out sometime?"

Excitement flitted across her face before, as it had once earlier in the evening, it turned downward and her smile melted. She stared at her hands, fingers squeezing each other in anxiety.

A boulder dropped in his stomach.

"I've...so enjoyed tonight, Jamie," she whispered. "Truly. But I'm not really in...that place right now." Whisky eyes, shining behind a sheen of moisture, met his own. "I'm sorry."

Crushed was as apt a word as he could conjure just then. Every step of the night had gone without a hitch until now, the most crucial final step: To see her again. Disappointment incommensurate with the few hours they'd spent together thus far flooded through him.

"Och, dinna be sorry, Sassenach," he said, wondering if his face or tone betrayed him. He sincerely hoped not. They sat next to each other, neither moving quite yet, until Jamie finally stood and pulled out his wallet.

"Here," he said, passing a business card to her, his last-ditch effort. "In case the team changes its mind about the sponsorship, ken?"

With a kind, sad smile, she reached up and took the card from him. Their fingers didn't touch, and Jamie found himself missing that contact.

 _Christ, man, yer pathetic,_ he chided himself.

Jamie replaced his wallet in his pocket. "I should get goin' myself." Claire remained seated. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, not sure how to take his leave. In the end, he decided on honesty. "I havena enjoyed a night like this in a long time, Sassenach. I hope..." One small sigh, his eyes not leaving hers. "I truly hope our paths cross again sometime." And, with every ounce of strength within him, he smiled at her. "Goodnight, Claire."

Walking across the patio, through the bar, and out the door onto the street, tears burned at his eyes. He fought them back. Unreasonable, it was. Absurd. But as the door of the pub clicked closed behind him, he felt another door snap and lock shut. And it pained him to walk away and let it.

#

Most of the team had already left by the time Claire rejoined Geillis inside, holding her skates by their tied laces. The atmosphere more subdued now, Geillis stood alone at the table, sipping on a ginger ale. A blush warmed her skin as her best friend leveled her with an indignant raised eyebrow.

"And where's yer wee fox, Beauchamp?" she demanded, one bony hand resting on her cocked hip.

Claire rolled her eyes. "He left."

"Aye, I watched him go," Geillis said. Pushing off the high top table, she rolled in a slow circle around Claire as though herding her in. "I dinna think I've ever seen a man that fine leave a bar lookin' so sad an' lonely before." Crossing her arms and stopping her motion, Geillis added. "What happened?"

"Nothing worth mentioning."

"Och, 'nothin' worth mentionin',' she says," Geillis mocked, rolling her eyes. "She spends hours wi' the man, abandonin' all her friends and teammates to do so, and then lets him leave alone, then says _nothin' worth mentionin'_ happened."

"'Abandoned'?" Claire laughed. "That's not how I remember it."

_Geillis spotted him first. "Och, Beech, yer ginger made it out," she whispered, jutting out her chin to motion toward the bar._

_Turning to look, Claire fought a ridiculous swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sure enough, the man from the bout -- a jawline like stone, eyes like ice, and a curly mop of red she'd immediately wanted to run her fingers through -- stood at the bar, nursing a highball glass filled with amber. She clamped her lips together, biting down, to contain the irrational giddiness that overtook her to see him here._

_Claire turned back to Geillis. "So?"_

_"_ Claaaire _," her friend whined, "are ye gonna go say hi?"_

 _"I can't just 'say hi,' Geillis!" she responded, mild panic making her shiver. Dating hadn't exactly been a priority for her in recent years. Besides the normal nerves of being out of practice, an exorbitant, unexplainable fear of failing with this_ particular _guy ate away at her gut. She cast a furtive glance back toward him before adding, "What if he's just interested in a solitary drink before heading home?"_

_"Aye, he came to the after party after makin' serious heart eyes at ye over shitty beer and from across the warehouse because he wants tae drink alone. The puir lad drooled o'er ye so much durin' the bout they nearly had to call a timeout just to mop the floor. For skater safety, ken."_

_"That sarcasm is so unbecoming of you, Gillie."_

_A wicked smirk made her friend's green eyes glint. "Ye dinna even need tae say a word. I bet all ye need to do is walk up, stand within five feet o' the lad, and he'll be talkin' to ye inside of two minutes."_

_More than almost anyone else since Claire had moved to Scotland, Geillis had always been in her corner. Through every late-night shift, every canceled night out, every bad date and every harsh word snapped in the throes of bone-melting exhaustion, Geillis Duncan had breezed right by._

_So if she were pushing Claire to take a risk, she knew it was a risk worth taking._

_Claire pushed her curls, still slightly damp from the game and the skate over from the warehouse, away from her face. "What exactly do I gain if I win this bet?"_

_Huffing an annoyed sigh, Geillis rolled her eyes. "Is this really a bet ye'd like to win, Beech?"_

_She didn't answer. Only looked again to the taut shoulders staring her down from a mere twenty yards away._

_"Fine. But_ if _I win, you're sprinting laps on Tuesday till you puke."_

"Seriously, Claire," Geillis asked, tone sobering. "Did he no' ask ye out?"

Pursing her lips and avoiding her friend's gaze, Claire shook her head. "No, he asked."

"Ah." Her high-pitched tone spoke of a sudden understanding. "So was he dull as mud, then? 'Tis always a shame when the extra fine ones make ye want to crawl up yer own arsehole just tae be rid of their drivel and tripe."

"No," Claire rushed to assure her friend before she could continue the vivid imagery. "No, he was..."

He was what? Interesting? Witty? Kind? Thoughtful? Intelligent? All wrapped up with a touch that sent sparks spreading from the point of contact every time? Each word seemed so utterly lacking. The hours spent outside with him beneath the fairy lights had felt like a dream.

But that was the rub. Relationships existed in reality, not in dreams. And her reality, in particular, posed difficulties and responsibilities most couldn't handle. And if her initial attraction to Jamie had made her fearful of blowing it big time, the hours spent laughing with him, watching how the whisky made his eyes shine, feeling the warmth from his fingers on her arm exacerbated that fear a hundredfold.

As always, Geillis read the truth on her face. "Beech..."

"I don't need anyone in my life, Gillie," Claire whispered, embarrassed to find herself choked up. Taking a sniffling breath, she leaned her elbows on the high top and ran her fingers through her stiff curls. "We had a nice evening tonight. Why take that and put it out in the real world where it may just...crash and burn?"

 _Like all the others_ , she added with a mental scoff.

"Or why throw somethin' away before it ever got a chance to live because yer afraid of what _may_ later fail, Beech? Ye canna ken what'll happen if ye never speak tae the man again."

Geillis wrapped her thin arm around Claire's shoulders, pulling her close. "I'll tell ye one thing, Beech. Dutiful best friend I am, I was spyin' on the both o' ye outside the window. The fox looked at ye like ye were the first woman he'd ever seen." She paused, placing a hand on Claire's shoulder. "And I dinna ken when I've ever seen ye lookin' so happy and...unburdened since I've kent ye."

Claire ran her fingers along the firm edges of his card held hidden in her hand.

"Dinna make a decision tonight," Geillis said, downing the rest of her drink before pulling Claire toward the door. "Ye deserve happiness, Claire. And I just think if ye let fear keep ye from at least tryin', ye'll never find it."

So many times in her life, Claire had overcome her fears. Her insistence on traveling with Uncle Lamb rather than attend boarding school. The decision to pursue medicine. To leave Frank. To move to Scotland. Even to put on skates and try roller derby for the first time. And every time, life had been better for it.

"I'll think about it," Claire promised as they stepped into the misty cool night air and made for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- It is very common for teams to have restrictions around drinking while skating, at least on team time, due to liability. (At least, in my area it is.) I've heard one too many horror stories about people imbibing on wheels in their own time and ending up with broken bones, even if they weren't super intoxicated. So yes, if you're gonna drink, you're gonna walk. 
> 
> \- Also, quipping about how bad you smell after a practice or game is extremely common. I mean...derby gear gets smelly. Fast. There's just no two ways about it. If you value your olfactory senses, never sniff an elbow pad...somehow, they're always the worst. ;) But that interaction where they joke back and forth about the fact that she smells felt really natural to me for them and was one of the first scenes that came to mind when I started planning this story. Claire isn't afraid to make fun of herself or look a little ridiculous, and they bounce off each other so well that it makes Jamie comfortable enough to tase her about something most people wouldn't touch on a meet-cute/first date. I wanted to show that they are both immediately comfortable and confident with each other. Hope it did just that. 
> 
> \- Also, I tried to work it in but it just didn't fit with the flow of their conversation. Maybe it'll come up later, but for your edification now. Claire has two pairs of skates (actually, several, but two mentioned here): Her derby/bout skates and her outdoor skates. You need different wheels to skate inside and outside; they should be softer outside to be able to handle skating over debris, etc. Not all of us (read: me) are lucky enough to have multiple pairs (on my wishlist, though!) and just change out the wheels as needed. But I see this as Claire's main escape and her big passion hobby. So she also gets pretty skates outside skates, too. :) 
> 
> \- Wingwoman Geillis coming in strong here! One thing I love about fanfic is that Geillis is almost *always* a bamf bff for Claire in fics, despite how her canon story ended up painting her. So of course that's gonna carry over here. 
> 
> \- Excited about a few more canon characters who will be making appearances soon in the coming chapters. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, commenting, loving, encouraging! I do sneak peeks and updates on my tumblr, isthisclever.tumblr.com.


	4. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie hopes for a call. Claire hopes he's worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! This is a *big* chapter, in length and content. Hence the wait. I hope you think it's worth it! 
> 
> As a side note, once we get through these initial chapters of their relationship, I kinda plan for this to be sort of ongoing fluff machine of Jamie and Claire cuteness of indeterminate length with mini-arcs along the way. 
> 
> That said, 1) posting may be further between depending on where I'm at/inspiration for what comes next, though I'll try to post regularly, and 2) I'm completely open to prompts and ideas you'd be interested in seeing in the comments or at my Tumblr, isthisclever.tumblr.com ;)
> 
> As always, THANK YOU all for the love and support.

Jamie returned to work on Monday with a sense of cautious optimism. Even as he broke the news to Colum that sponsoring the Reekie Rollers would likely not be an avenue to solving their current dilemma (news which did not go over well) and even as he spent his lunch hour on the phone placating distributors and clients threatening to sever ties over Dougal's indiscretions, he kept one eye on the phone.

Claire had said no to another date, but she'd taken his card. Jamie clung to that all day. And then the next. His mood dampened by degrees each day that passed without hearing from her. By Friday afternoon, six full days since meeting her, Jamie left for the weekend in poor spirits. For a moment, he considered forwarding his office phone to his cell...just in case. But he conquered the urge, nearly running from the building before he could change his mind. Besides, the prospect of possibly arriving Monday morning to a voicemail from her kept him from descending into full melancholy for the next two days.

Day nine, then, he burst into his office, practically sprinting to his phone. Five missed calls over the weekend. His heart hammered as he half listened to each voicemail, waiting for that posh English accent he'd grown so fond of beneath the fairy lights. But, after writing messages down from a supplier, a reporter, Ian, and deleting two robocalls, he admitted defeat.

Blowing a disappointed breath out through pursed lips, Jamie wished he could expel Claire from his mind just as easily. There was too much to do today. Public outrage had largely waned since the first reports of Dougal's lechery had leaked, but Jamie still spent much of his time mending damaged relationships with the business contacts who were now wary of association with the Mack brand. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers into the sockets as he regulated his breathing, willing himself to focus on the day's tasks and forget about the curly-haired skater and her whisky eyes.

By two o'clock on day ten, all hope that Claire would call had dissipated. Grouchy, short-tempered, Jamie felt his colleagues' and family's unease as they gave him a wide berth.

There was no explaining the morose distemper within him that had yet to ease. _Disappointment_ wasn't quite the right sentiment. More like he'd discovered the holy grail itself only to bungle it, dropping and shattering the treasure with his own ineptitude. Like he'd glimpsed the painting God had made of his future before striking a match and watching the masterpiece disintegrate to ash.

Some part of him knew this was not a rational reaction to rejection. If it had been a random woman in a bar, any other woman, Jamie knew he would've shrugged it off with hardly a second thought.

Why couldn't he now?

He was just shy of four years since his last relationship had crashed and burned. Again, by his own hand. Since he'd stepped back from dating at all and, really, any extended companionship outside his immediate family.

Four years was a long time to be alone, though it hadn't been as difficult as he would've expected. The time to himself had been good. Grief and insecurity still haunted him on occasion, but in many ways he felt steadier than he had in as long as he could remember. Calmer, too. For all his professional dissatisfaction, Jamie had reached a peace within himself and with his family that had long ago been broken.

And that was the rub, then. In all that time, he'd never really missed what he'd banished from his life.

Not until he'd seen her. Then he'd yearned for it, desperately.

So now, the not having ate away at him. Four years of delayed loneliness swelled in his chest over mere days. Pressure built so quickly and surely he knew he'd explode from it.

The ringing of his office phone sliced through the dense air. Grunting in frustration, he picked up the handset and cradled it in his shoulder, attention still on the spreadsheet before him. "James Fraser, Mackenzie Distillery," he mumbled by rote.

"Hi, Jamie, it's--"

"Claire." His eyes shot wide, head straightening so the phone nearly rolled off his shoulder. Gripping it in hand, he turned away from the computer screen. "I'm sorry, I didna mean to interrupt ye. I..." He couldn't have hidden the breathless ghost of a laugh if he'd wanted to. "I'm glad to hear from ye."

Her own exhalation rustled over the line. "It's nice to hear you, too," she responded.

The line fell quiet for a moment as Jamie waited for her to speak. With every shared breath, anticipation mounted. "Is...ah..." Nerves set his skin to crawling as he swiped his fingers through his hair. "Is there somethin' I can help ye wi', then?"

"Yes, actually," she answered. Her voice -- God, that lovely, smooth voice his memory had absolutely not done justice to -- took on the air of an actor throwing herself into a script. "I actually was hoping to discuss that sponsorship you'd mentioned before for the team."

Jamie deflated a bit before he gave his head a good shake. If talking shop was the only way he could see her, he'd take her through every business plan and press release and meeting agenda and branding kit until kingdom come. "Aye? That would--"

"To be _completely_ transparent," Claire continued, voice raised ever so slightly, clearly indicating who was the lead on the call, "we're going to reject the offer. But I thought you may want to hear the news in person. One on one. Maybe over some dinner."

A grin creeped up his face. His pulse echoed in his ears. A writhing in his stomach brought his breath up short.

"Is that so?" Jamie leaned back in his chair, eyes trained to the ceiling as his face began to ache with the smiling. "Ye ken Colum was truly hopin' for a partnership. So if that's the case, it may even call for a drink. To soften the blow, ken?"

"Seems perfectly reasonable," came her casual response.

"So when will this...negotiation take place, then?"

A shaky breath, hardly a whisper over the phone line, was his first hint at Claire's own nerves. Somehow, sharing the feeling with her lightened his own. "I'm on shift today and tomorrow. Thursday night would work, if that's--"

"Aye," Jamie agreed immediately. "Do I get to pick the place this time?"

"Like I picked before?"

"Well, the team picked the bar, so ye picked by extension." Jamie spun his chair with his feet like a child to exorcise his suddenly boundless energy. That is, until the phone cord twisted around him and pulled him up short.

Christ, he was a mess. But he still couldn't stop beaming.

Heat prickled from his scalp to his toes at the sound of her laugh, full and deep. "Fine," she relented. "You can pick."

"Wise decision." Glancing at the caller ID screen, he added, "Assumin' this is yer cell number, would it be all right to text ye the details?"

"Permission granted."

"Excellent. For now, plan on Thursday at six. Leave the rest tae me." Jamie affected an all-business tone as he added, "I'll be in touch with all due haste, Ms. Beauchamp."

He could practically hear her eye roll, but she played along. "Of course. We are looking forward to...working closely with you." The pitch of her voice lowered slightly as she finished her sentence, hitting him square in his chest. How would he survive actually _seeing_ her again when her very voice disarmed him to his core?

Another heavy silence descended over them. Jamie didn't want to say goodbye, but he had to work, and if Claire was working, she'd likely need to hang up soon, too.

"Claire?" he finally said, a barely there tremor in his voice. He fiddled with a corner of the paper on his desk. "Thank ye. For callin'."

There was no immediate response, but Jamie imagined she was smiling. Hoped she was. "I'll see you Thursday, Jamie," she finally said, voice warm.

"See ye Thursday, Sassenach."

#

"Oh, you did not!" Claire exclaimed, elbows on the table as she leaned forward toward him.Never had anyone looked so bonny, Jamie thought as he raised his glass for a sip.

Jamie had labored over his restaurant selection, wanting something nice enough that she'd feel special without slipping into the territory of ostentatious. Casual but romantic. Now, halfway through dinner and each on their second glass of wine, the space between them hummed and he couldn't care less about the food or the atmosphere. All that existed was the bubble surrounding them and the smile that hadn't faded from her lips all evening.

When she'd opened her apartment door to him earlier at a minute to six, he knew she'd heard his gasp. Blood had rushed to her face as she failed to suppress a smile. But what else could he have done, framed in the doorway as she'd been in fitted black jeans and a blue blouse that popped against her fair skin? Curls pulled back loosely at her neck? Confident and sexy in heels, whisky eyes shining like she knew exactly what she did to him?

She stunned him continually.

"Och, aye," he responded firmly, glass of wine still in hand. "Nicked the master key for all o' campus from maintenance, then filed copies -- _by hand_ , mind -- and distributed them. Just to trusted friends, to be sure," he added in a confidential manner.

"Oh, of course," Claire agreed.

Another sip of his wine, another inch he leaned over the small table. Wicked delight oozed from him as he ran a hand through his russet curls. "O' course, the administration had some...idea what was happening but could ne'er catch me. Woulda been a serious offense if they had. One time, my hand to God, they came searchin' and the damned key was sitting right in the open drawer of my desk. I was lookin' straight at it, heart racin' so fast I was nearly sick right on the hall advisor's shoes." Boyish pride nearly a decade old pulled the corners of his lips into a mischievous grin. "Lucky for me, they only made me empty my pockets and my bag."

Claire shook her head, laughter bubbling through her chest and past her lips. "Well, teenaged Jamie sure sounds like a hellion."

"Quite," he agreed. "But I was the hero of the dorms."

"Is that a fact?"

"Aye," Jamie answered. "Well, at least among the canoodlin' ones lookin' for a spot of privacy in the wee hours here and there on campus."

Jamie watched as she stabbed her final bite of steak and popped it into her mouth. "So," Claire asked when she'd finished, "what lasses was fifteen-year-old Jamie Fraser taking to dark classrooms for a bit of...'canoodlin',' was it?"

Azure eyes narrowed, and his crooked smirk climbed up one side of his face. "No one particular. I enjoyed breakin' the rule itself more than anythin'."

"Uh-huh." Claire leaned back in her chair with one eyebrow cocked. "Color me convinced."

"Enough of my yammerin' on, Sassenach," Jamie said as he leaned even harder onto his elbows. "I don't believe I ever heard the story of how ye ended up in Edinburgh."

A perfect brown ringlet fell into her face then, and Jamie found himself mesmerized by it. Then by the adorable face she made as she swiped it away from her eye, blowing sideways out the side of her mouth.

"Oh, not much of a story really," she demurred.

He raised an eyebrow of his own in invitation.

When Claire sat forward again, weight on her elbows against her side of the table, scents of vanilla and patchouli washed over him. Images of those very curls burying him, smothering him with that sweet aroma assaulted his senses, and Jamie fought to contain the near growl of desire that rose unbidden to his throat.

"Well, my parents died when I was a child, so I was raised by my uncle."

A gut punch tore through him at her casual statement, his own wounded heart bleeding anew to hear it. "I'm sorry, Sassenach."

Though she shrugged, a certain cloudiness masked her features before she shoved it aside. But not without visible effort. "I loved my life with him. He was an archaeologist, and every summer, we'd travel doing his research. By my twelfth birthday, I'd visited more than twenty-five countries. It was an...exciting way to grow up."

"Still," Jamie said, tone solemn for the first time that evening. "Those are losses that dinna leave ye."

Claire's eyes bored into him. The golden hue of them paralyzed him, and he sat powerless to break her gaze. Until without a word, she simply reached over and touched his hand. Her fingers grazed his for only a moment, an acknowledgment of what he left unsaid, before she pulled back.

Even without sharing a word of his own darkness, Jamie had never felt so seen as in that moment. 

Shifting in his seat, Jamie combed through his hair again, regaining composure. "So," he prompted, grasping for the lighthearted demeanor that had carried the evening thus far, "Scotland?"

She nodded. "When I was around ten, Uncle Lamb began fostering the child of a colleague of his who passed away. He eventually adopted him, as well, and hence my brother John came into the picture. He was only about two years older than me, so we grew up close. He moved to Edinburgh with his partner -- now husband -- after Uncle Lamb died, and I knew I'd move to follow him when I finished with nursing school. And...so I did. That's about it."

Jamie pondered her story before responding. Cursory though it was, Claire had shared a lot with him through it. The loss of both parents, her uncle. Picking up and moving countries to stay with the last bit of family she had. He felt honored, truly, for her to have trusted him with so much. Layered in, too, was a feeling of kinship. That connectedness between them that had germinated on the patio at Leoch Tavern seemed to thrive and blossom with each shared memory, every arresting glance. That briefest brush of skin.

Linked by loss, yes, but something more, as well. Something that sent shivers rattling down Jamie's spine.

"So," Claire said on the end of a sigh, clearly keen to shift focus back to him even as he itched to hear everything he could about her. "What other salacious boarding school stories do you have to share?"

Draining his glass and leaning back, Jamie grinned. "I canna go spillin' all my best stories tonight, Sassenach. If the well runs dry on the first date, how on earth will I keep ye comin' back?"

He didn't miss how her gaze flicked down to his chest then back up to his hair, down to his lips before settling back at eye level. Assessing the bit of him she could see. Jamie felt it as though she'd run her hands along his body instead of her eyes.

"I guess we'll have to see," she answered, voice low.

Their food had long ago been finished. Wine glasses now both empty once more. Claire tried to cover the check when it came, but Jamie was quicker, pulling his wallet out and sending his card away with the waiter.

"Tell ye what." Jamie donned his jacket and stood to help a still-grumbling Claire from her chair. "My favorite coffee shop is just 'round the block. Buy me a cup?"

Awaiting her answer, breath held, Jamie counted heartbeats.

One beat.

Two. Three.

"Deal."

#

By the time he and Claire found a quiet corner of the coffee shop to nurse their drinks -- hot cocoa for her, Irish coffee for him -- Jamie felt the pinkness of his cheeks. His entire being, in fact, felt pink. Raw and warm and giddy. The low purr of the radio and handful of mumbled conversations echoed the tingling he'd felt beneath his skin from the moment he'd laid eyes on her at her door.

She sat beside him on the over-loved sofa. Each sat with their body angled toward the other. Jamie laid one arm atop the back of the couch. Claire, rather bright-faced as well, had slipped her heels off and tucked her feet beneath her, bent knees pointing directly at him. More laughter, more giggling as the night carried on, each moment perfection. Emptied mugs sat forgotten on the end table, and the hands of the clock seemed to race through their rounds. Even as he knew Claire would likely need to leave soon, Jamie dreaded calling the night over.

Finally, though, she sighed and glanced at her watch.

"About that time, then?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the whine from his voice.

Her rueful smile quickened his heart. "Nearly," she admitted.

Jamie cocked an eyebrow. As he opened his mouth to speak, Claire did instead.

"Not to sound presumptuous, but this went...fairly well, didn't it?" Her whisky eyes glinted with glee, though Jamie sensed a genuine query in her voice. As though the night could've been deemed anything other than glorious.

Smirking, leaning in closer so the outside of his leg butted against her knee, he lowered his voice as he answered, "Fairly."

Her dark curls bobbed a bit as she nodded, face reddening. "I agree. And on that note, I have a bit of a disclosure."

"Oh?" Intrigued, he moved closer. If he dropped his arm from the couch, he could easily envelop her within it. "Do I get to guess, then?"

An arc of her eyebrow invited him to try. She raised three fingers wordlessly into the air.

Jamie stroked his chin, pretending to ponder deeply. "Are ye...a hired gun, sent on assignment tae 'off' one or both of my uncles and usin' me tae gain intelligence?" he guessed first, swinging his head back dramatically toward her to underscore the sarcasm.

She bit her lips together and folded in one finger.

"Well, couldna be blamed if that were the case, tae be honest. But no. All right," he inched closer again, eyes locking on hers. Her knees layered atop his thigh. Plump lips drew up in a pinched smirk as though holding the secret hostage just behind them. Jamie tried not to be distracted with only moderate success.

"Then...are ye on the run for whistleblowin' or some other high-stakes corporate-slash-government espionage?"

That earned him a cackle as she lowered her second finger. "Because the most prudent thing to do in that case would be to tell a stranger all about it."

"Och, but we're no' strangers anymore now, are we?" he asked, tone still jovial. She simply gave her head a single shake, eyes so alight they seemed to glow.

One guess left.

An exaggerated sigh escaped him as he flopped his head onto the back of the couch in faux exasperation. Wracking his brain, Jamie considered his actual deal-breakers. In truth, he could only think of one. He lifted his head.

"Are..." He averted his gaze. "Are ye married? Or...or wi' someone?"

Kindness beamed from her as she folded in her final digit, holding a fist in the air.

"You, Mr. Fraser, are a bad guesser."

The pink feeling returned as he chuckled alongside her. His guesses spent, they sat for a moment as their giggles subsided. Gold attracted blue like a magnet, and Jamie found himself sucked into the hypnotism of her gaze. Second by second, Jamie felt his heart quickening. The longer they held contact, something akin to dizziness swelled over him.

Finally, Claire broke their trance with a nearly imperceptible shiver and turned to grab her phone. The sounds around them -- which had seemed muted, far away for the last few minutes -- made themselves known again. Jamie took a breath as she freed him, all but panting as though he'd been underwater and his face had just finally broken the surface.

They were close now, their torsos nearly touching. Her knees still hovered over his own. Even as his curiosity began to spiral, Jamie spent a moment considering the wisdom of placing his hand just there. A glance at her face told him to hold off. She still looked undeniably radiant, joyful. But a sense of resolve had eked into her features. Jamie wanted to give her the space to speak freely.

"I'm not married," Claire said, words and tone measured. "But...there is someone in my life."

Before Jamie had time to puzzle over her meaning, she turned her phone toward him, showing him the photo on her lock screen. Claire was surrounded by orange and red. A tunnel of trees behind her, leaves littering the ground. Yellow sunlight danced off her curls. In her chunky beige sweater and jeans, she was the essence of autumn come to life.

As was the lass in the burgundy velvet dress and matching curls on her hip.

Jamie exhaled, and a grin overtook his face as he eased the phone from her hand and took in the image. He cut his eyes up toward Claire. "She's beautiful," he said.

Truly, she was. A miniature of Claire in so many ways. The long, wild curls blowing in the wind. The way both their noses crinkled as they smiled, showing them to be genuine. Love shining brighter than the light on her hair radiated from Claire's face as she laughed with her child.

Jamie felt her eyes on him as he studied the photo, and it didn't escape his notice how she still seemed to be bracing for impact somehow.

"What's her name?" he asked, handing the phone back.

"Elisabeth Quinn Beauchamp." Claire took the phone and, after a wistful hum of contentment at the sight of the image, replaced it in her purse. "I call her Quinn. Quinnie, sometimes. It was as close as I could get to honoring my uncle without naming the poor girl 'Quentin.'"

Buzzed more from relief than the splash of whisky in the coffee he'd finished hours ago, Jamie laughed, head thrown back and lips wide. "Aye. Charitable of ye indeed, Sassenach."

Now, he did place one hand over her knee, squeezing briefly. After spending the entire night dying to touch her, starved for it save for one brief brush of their fingers at dinner, he relished the charge that jumped between them. "She's lovely, Claire. Truly."

Her squared shoulders finally sagged a bit as she collapsed on her side into the back cushions of the couch. "She is, isn't she?"

After a beat of silence, Jamie asked, "How old is she?"

"Nearly four," Claire answered. "She was born not long after I arrived in Scotland, actually."

Jamie nodded, fingers tracing hesitantly over her kneecap. He wanted so badly to wrap her in his arms, chase away the doubt he saw haunting her features. "And her father?"

"Not in the picture," she responded, effectively shutting down that avenue of conversation.

Signaling his understanding with a nod, Jamie moved on to lighter topics. "Does she get to watch ye play?"

Delight exploded over her face in a thousand-watt smile. "Sometimes. John brings her to the games, then takes her for the night so I can go out afterward." Her eyes settled on his hand, still resting on her knee. "I honestly couldn't have done it without him."

"Derby?"

"Well, yes," Claire responded. "That, too. He lives in the same building, two floors up. But I wasn't going to join the team. She was only a year old. I was barely twenty-two and just getting my feet under me at the hospital. And John and Hector helped so much when she was born and I was starting here. It seemed like too much to put that on them, too. But he pushed me to, insisting they could handle it.

"I think..." Her eyebrows knitted together as she gathered the words. "I think he saw how much I needed it. I love Quinn so much, and I love being a mother. But..." She stopped, dropping her eyes to her fingers in her lap. "Especially with her so young, it can feel like you're a bit...subsumed into the identity of parenthood. Like you don't really exist as you anymore. You're 'Quinn's mum,' and anything outside of that comes secondary."

When she stopped, Jamie squeezed her knee again in encouragement. She lifted her eyes to his and leaned her head sideways onto the cushions, head bumping against his arm still resting there. "It's nice to have a space where I'm not _Mummy_ for a few hours. Where I'm just Claire or Sass N Whack, just a woman with a team and friends. My own person."

Jamie nodded, thumb swiping up and down her jean-clad kneecap. "I understand it. As well as I can, anyway. My sister, Jenny, she has three bairns and twins on the way."

"That's a noisy house for sure."

"Aye, 'tis," Jamie agreed happily. "And I ken she loves them all tae bits. But she still leaves them wi' Ian a few weekends a year to travel wi' her girlfriends. The way she explained it, ye can give them more if ye give yerself a little something every so often."

The noise of the coffee shop had died down considerably. Jamie knew closing time was likely approaching. Yet neither moved to stand. For his own part, he wished they could stay throughout the dark hours, just as they were here. Sharing. Learning.

Coolness over his knuckles sent goosebumps erupting up his arms and down his spine. Claire's eyes were homed in on his hand resting on her leg as she traced over his fingers before lacing hers between them. Jamie felt the corner of his lips pulling up, chest tight.

"Can I ask you something, Sassenach?" Emboldened, he brought his other arm down from the back of the sofa and traced the curl that had fallen to frame her face.

"Yes," she answered, breathless. He swore her eyelids fluttered.

Sighing, twirling his finger through the near-perfect ringlet, he asked, "Does it really give you such trouble, bein' a mam?"

She shrugged. Lightness had returned to her face these past minutes, but he still sensed some...uncertainty? hesitation?...behind her eyes. "If it didn't, it would be conversation, not a disclosure."

His eyebrows furrowed, and he dropped his hand from her hair. As little as he liked the thought of Claire with other men, Jamie liked the idea of Claire being rejected because of her child even less. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I liked that, you know," she said, pointing to her abandoned curl. Smirking, Jamie resumed his ministrations.

"And don't be. Not like there's been so very many of them, and certainly no one worth fussing over. Most of the time after I tell them, they ask all the right questions and are perfect gentlemen, then I just never hear from them again." She chuckled before adding, "Then there was the one guy. Nice enough chap. And halfway through the third date, I was going to tell him. Until he came back from a phone call with his brother, apparently panicking over a lost blanket their toddler couldn't sleep without. 'That is one fucking mistake I'll never make,' were his exact words when he sat back down." She shrugged. "Finished the appetizers then told him I needed to get back home to my own little 'fucking mistake.' The ride home was...awkward."

A hollow chuckle rocked through her as she rolled her eyes at the memory. Jamie tried to smile, mirroring Claire. She was a strong woman, he'd known that. But though she hid her hurt behind sarcasm and jibes, Jamie could still see it. In the darkening of her amber eyes, the tautness of her smile, her thumb tapping against her thigh.

She didn't worry about _him_ running away, he hoped. Did she?

Jamie clamped his fingers more tightly around hers where they rested on her knees. "Och, well, any man scared away by a wean isna much worth havin' around, if ye ask me," Jamie replied, hoping to comfort her. Though she smiled, beautiful as ever, he could suddenly see it, written across that open, honest face. And he understood then why she'd said no when he first asked to take her out, why it had taken ten days for her to call.

She was preparing to be let down.

If only he could fold her up in his arms and show her exactly how un-scared he was. How just seeing her wee lass on the screen filled him with an eagerness to meet her, compare mother to daughter, see which traits and habits and mannerisms had passed on. To share the jokes and tricks that made Jenny's bairns giggle like hyenas. To learn just what Quinn's little laugh would sound like.

Somehow, though, he doubted the words would offer the assurance he wanted. How many silver-tongued pricks had come before him, playing the "perfect gentlemen," as she'd said? How many had asked about her daughter and said how beautiful she was, scrolled through photos and oohed and awed only to disappear once the night had ended?

"Sorry, folks," came a voice beside them. Both their heads snapped that way to see a teenager in a dark green apron standing before them. "We're closin' shop for the night."

Reluctant, sighing, Claire and Jamie exchanged a look before disentangling themselves and standing. He helped her into her coat. As they walked through the door, Jamie took her hand in his again, unwilling to surrender the softness of it yet.

The stroll to his car took four minutes. By the time they climbed in and headed toward her home, he had a plan.

#

"You look happy."

John didn't waste time on a greeting as Claire let herself into the apartment. At nearly eleven o'clock, Quinn would have long ago been put to bed. Hector, too, had likely retired early, as was his custom. John's dark, unkempt hair fell into his face, eyes glimmering with suggestion.

She huffed a sigh and rolled her eyes. "I didn't put out, if that's what you mean." She and Jamie hadn't even kissed goodnight, though, _God_ , she had wanted to. All night sitting across from her in that gray button-up shirt, that black leather jacket, his curls tousled just so and mussed further as he coursed his fingers through them in a nervous habit that touched her with its sincerity...she'd burned for him. Electricity still surged from the spot on her knee where he'd caressed her, the side of her face where his skin just barely skimmed her own as he toyed with her curls. Her hand still held the heat from where first she, then he had reached out to twine their fingers together.

But when he'd walked her to the door, in that second when both were weighing how to say goodnight, she'd leaned in for the hug. To his credit, she'd never felt so secure in an embrace as she did when Jamie wrapped her in his solid arms and held her against his chest. And her heart had fluttered to feel his lips press a kiss to the crown of her head.

No matter how badly she'd wanted to kiss him, she couldn't. Not yet. Because to experience what it was to kiss this man then lose him would eclipse the pain any of the others had caused.

John scoffed and followed as Claire made her way down the hall to the guest room (lovingly dubbed "Q's room" when she stayed over). "Happiness isn't only shagging, Claire," John said quietly as the door creaked open.

She didn't respond as she eased into the room and looked upon her sleeping daughter. Quinn looked so peaceful in slumber, like a cherub statue come to life. Brown curls, the exact shade of her own and carefully brushed by her uncles before bedtime, flowed around her head like a halo. A spot of drool darkened the pillow just beneath her open mouth.

"Any trouble?" Claire whispered as she always did, picking the girl up and resting the tiny head on her shoulder. Quinn wrapped her arms around her mother's neck by instinct and curled into her body, never waking.

"Never," came his habitual answer, John trailing behind as they made their slow way back toward the door. Claire caught his tender smile and soft pat on Quinn's curled head.

If anyone loved her daughter as much as she, it was John.

Meandering toward the door, Claire felt her phone vibrate once in her back pocket but, hands full, couldn't answer it.

"Seriously, Claire." He moved to block her path to the door. "You look happy. Is he a good guy?"

The million-dollar question. Every cell in her screamed in the affirmative. But past experience told her to tread carefully. As had become evident the last almost-four years, so few twenty-somethings cared to dive into a relationship with the added complication and responsibility of a child.

Daunted by the sheer weight of the emotions already at play, her brain bade her heart to err on the side of safety. If _safe_ even existed anymore.

"I hope so."

John smiled and hugged them both before bidding them goodnight. Claire made her way down the two flights back toward her apartment. As she approached the apartment, she saw something on the ground outside her door.

"What..."

A wallet sat neatly in the middle of the doormat. A wallet that had definitely not been there when Jamie had dropped her off, nor when she'd left again after dumping her coat and purse before heading upstairs to John's. Confused, she stepped over it and went inside. She quickly put Quinn back to bed, leaving a kiss on her forehead before rushing back out to the door and picking up the wallet.

It was Jamie's. Even if the ID on the inside hadn't confirmed as much, she recognized it from when he'd paid for dinner. Had he come back when she went up to bring Quinn home?

Claire pulled out her phone, ready to text him and find out. Only to see an unread message. She touched to open it.

_Sassenach, I left my wallet at your place. I'll have a hard time taking you out again without it._

Tears welled in her eyes. Shaking her head, heart pounding, Claire reentered her home and typed back, _Good thing I'm not on shift again until Sunday._

Send.

The three dots appeared almost immediately.

_Then you're free for lunch tomorrow?_

_Depends. What's my finder's fee?_

Breaths came fast, heavy. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. Three dots bounced on the screen.

_I'll surprise you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Derby is for *everyone,* moms/parents included! In fact, there are more parents on my team than not. 
> 
> \- I hope you enjoyed the big reveal of Elisabeth Quinn! I was thinking about how Claire would name her child without Jamie's or another partner's input, and I love the idea that she would honor her uncle, who unfortunately did not live to meet his sorta namesake. I love the name Quinn, too, so there we go. I've also always been more partial to Elisabeth with an "s." Claire is still Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp; to me, the "s" was her way of making the name Quinn's own while still naming her after herself.
> 
> \- Claire's comments regarding derby/motherhood are essentially taken from what my teammates with kids have said they love about coming to derby. I don't have children myself, but I've heard so many women in particular talk about how derby gives them a space of their own outside of having to always have on the "Mom" hat. And that doesn't mean they don't love their kids or even that they don't share derby/skating with them. But derby is *their* time. 
> 
> \- Jamie's story about stealing his high school's master key and cloning it for the students...completely stolen from my husband. This is one of his favorite childhood/high school anecdotes, which he tells all the time. ;) I was always more of a goody-two-shoes and fairly boring as a kid/teenager, so I'm glad he has some crazy stories of teenage shenanigans I can pilfer for my writing. In all likelihood, as more fun stories come out later, they're drawn from my husband's boarding school days. 
> 
> \- John is, indeed, John Grey! I've read a few stories where he and Claire are siblings and always enjoyed that dynamic. And, no, there will be no Jamie pining from him! He's happy with his Hector :) 
> 
> \- I tried to put the necessary info to figure out their ages without just listing it out, but to help on the math since I've taken liberties with ages/timelines, John is 28, Claire is nearly 26, and Jamie is 24. Claire had Quinn at 21, soon after finishing nursing school. This may seem young, but it is possible. My best friend was homeschooled and had a ton of credits and started college at 16 and had her master's by 22. So I'm going with the idea that Claire had her mix of traditional/non traditional schooling and entered university fairly early. More of this story may or may not come out later. 
> 
> \- Check me out at isthisclever.tumblr.com. I post sneak peeks, updates, commentary, etc. 
> 
> Much love to you all!


	5. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geillis insists on a play-by-play of Claire's two-date weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALLL I love this chapter. I had this idea for a slightly different format and honestly I am so thrilled with how it came out. I hope you're just as excited about it. 
> 
> Also, I'll have more notes at the end, but for clarify of reading, "27/5" should be read as "27 in 5." These are timed laps (27 laps around the track in 5 minutes) and are a requisite for qualifying for most gameplay. (More notes for interested parties at the end.)
> 
> THANK YOU ALL for reading and going on this ride with me!

Monday

"I canna believe ye went on not one,but _two_ dates wi' the fox in a single weekend and didna say a word to me about it!"

Awake since 5:00 a.m. Working since 6 a.m. And very nearly late for practice at 7:30 p.m., which would commence in four minutes sharp. After twelve hours in the A&E and over an hour of a fussy Quinn who'd recently decided that vegetables -- all vegetables -- were _persona non grata_ in the Beauchamp household (and announced same by eating said abominations one agonizing lick at a time and howling at the top of her lungs as though they were coated in acid), Claire was hardly in the mood for a lambasting.

Even if the subject of said interrogation made her stomach turn somersaults at the mere thought.

Claire rolled her eyes and rushed to lace her skates before the first whistle sounded and she was officially late. "Gillie..."

"No, no, it's no' like I'm the one who convinced ye to e'en _speak_ to the man. _Faaar_ be it for yer best friend tae ken when her matchmakin' skills lead to what's apparently been the best sex ye've had in recent years."

"Geillis!" Claire hissed, brows constricting as she swiveled her head to check her surroundings. But they were the only ones still gearing up, the rest of the team skating laps to warm up. Sighing, Claire let her shoulders drop as she bent to tend to her laces again.

It wasn't that she cared so much if anyone knew she was dating (or... _dating_ ) anyone, as the case may be. But for the first time in years, hope outweighed the voice constantly chattering away in the back of her mind, insisting no man could handle her, her life, her kid. Or would want to. In the space of a long weekend, though, she'd begun to believe that maybe, perhaps something could grow between them. And _he'd_ made her believe so.

But that didn't mean she could ignore the voice completely. For a time, while the excitement was fresh and the hope fragile, she'd keep him to herself. With one notable exception.

Geillis Duncan, after all, was not a woman to be denied.

"So ye did, then? How was it?" Geillis took a seat on the bench beside her, one red brow arched as her lips drew up in a fiendish grin. "Does he look as good out of his clothes as in them?"

Claire huffed a sigh, sitting up and grabbing for her elbow pads. "No, as a matter of fact, we haven't. Not that it's any of your business, Ms. Duncan."

"Well, somethin' happened," her friend pressed. "Yer poker face is shit, and ye've been glowin' since ye arrived, e'en frazzled as ye are. So tell me, then."

_Friday_

_They'd set lunch for 1:00 p.m. at a small eatery just around the corner from Claire's place. She and Quinn passed the morning with a trip to the market, then the shoe store -- Jesus H. Christ, how she'd already outgrown her last pair was beyond her -- before finally folding the laundry together with_ Mary Poppins _on the telly for domestic inspiration. (Quinn's very important job: sock matching. Which, while an engaging enough task for a toddler, had the added benefit of sparing Claire from her least favorite aspect of the chore.)_

_By the time Claire dropped Quinn at John's -- his smug look speaking to his suspicions about her midday plans, her traitorous pink cheeks confirming them -- and began the walk toward Glenna's Cafe, her heart raced faster than a hummingbird's wings. Thoughts zoomed through her head at nearly the same pace._

_What if the spark from those first meetings was just the result of the booze? The adrenaline from the bout? The inherent sensuality of the late-night hours that tinted everything just that much more thrilling? With the sun shining above, stone cold sober, would the allure of him still draw her in? In her everyday clothes -- stretchy jeans, well-worn olive green button-up blouse, and black jacket -- would hers even exist at all?_

_She wasn't overly worried about being stood up; she did have his credit cards, ID, and cash bouncing in the bottom of her purse, after all. But after handing it back, would he scarf down his meal and then leave? What if they'd talked themselves out the last two times they'd met? How would she extricate herself if, in the daytime, he turned out to be incredibly boring or an arsehole?_

_Had she misremembered how it felt when his skin touched hers, the jolts that had coursed through her as tangible as static shock? Or what if she were simply hard up enough for companionship that she'd created this feeling where none existed?_

_A bell dinged over the door as she entered, six full minutes early in her nervous haste. Perfect, she'd have a chance to catch her--_

_"Sassenach."_

_Head snapping to her left, Claire felt her stomach clench and warm. The sun, uncharacteristically bright in the Edinburgh autumn, glinted off his gorgeous red locks through the floor-to-ceiling front windows. His hair, his skin, his eyes, his smile...all of him seemed to glow._

_And he most definitely drew her in._

_"Jamie," she responded, walking over toward him as her own smile responded to his. He stood from the tiny, circular table in the corner as she approached, and Claire wondered if the elation on his own face -- relief, even? -- mirrored her own. Joy radiated from him, infecting her to the point of near giddiness as he wrapped her in another of his sturdy hugs that banished all doubt that the swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach was anything but organic._

_They held the embrace, neither quite wanting to pull away. But as they parted and as Claire began to speak, he leaned in and pressed his lips to her cheek. A quick peck, the same kind of kiss John would've given her in greeting, or Hector, or Lamb, or even Geillis. Even so, as Jamie pulled away with a blush to match her own rising color, that innocent touch sent shockwaves roiling through her, goosebumps prickling across her skin._

A rolling whistle jarred Claire from her tale, and she grabbed Geillis's arm to join the rest of the team, gathering around to begin their warm-up drills.

"So yer grinnin' ear tae ear ower a peck on the cheek?" Geillis shook her head. "Feckin' Christ, Beech, ye may no' survive when ye finally--"

"There was more than that," Claire cut off her friend in a whisper as they slowed to a stop with the main group, half listening to the instructions. "I'll tell you after practice, okay?"

She should've known better than to dangle the carrot before her best friend. Green, determined eyes glinted as Claire turned her attention to the coach. For the next two hours, every water break, every drill, every two seconds where Claire stopped to breathe, Geillis materialized by her side, expectant and hungry. When Phaedra tried to partner with Claire for a blocking exercise, Geillis swooped in and all but shoved her out of the way, shrugging off their teammate's annoyed eye roll as Geillis badgered Claire for a steady fifteen minutes. Claire brushed her off each time, though, keeping her focus (with no small difficulty) on practice.

Finally, with ten minutes left, coach announced the 27/5 lap qualifier. Sharp fingers wrapped around Claire's bicep and pulled her to the outside of the track.

"What? Gillie--"

"Ye got yer laps back in February, Beech," Geillis responded as they took up a leisurely skate around the outside of the track. She huffed a sigh as she swept a stray curl out of her eyes and under her helmet. True, of course, that she had long ago attained her lap goal. By now, with two months left on the season, only newbies hoping to roster for the last handful of games generally skated the dreaded 27/5 each week. Claire, though, participated whenever space allowed for the endurance practice.

As she opened her mouth to say just that, Geillis shot her with a look of warning. "If yer openin' yer gob for anything other than tae tell me if ye let the lad cop a feel, I swear to God I will hip check ye into the wall."

Biting her lip, Claire glanced around. Four skaters had lined up on the track, faces taut in concentration. The rest of their teammates had either moved to one end or the other to work on individual drills or were cooling down with a relaxed skate around the outer track, as she and Geillis were now. No one paid them much mind as the whistle blew and the skaters on the track took off at a sprint.

Scoffing and rolling her eyes as she suppressed a smirk, Claire knocked her elbow pad against Geillis's. "Fine, you bloody brute."

_"Glad tae see ye," Jamie said as he pulled the chair out for her to sit before circling back to his own._

_Beaming, heart still racing, Claire replied, "You, too."_

_"If fer no other reason than I'm absolutely skint and desperately need petrol in my car." His upper body pitched toward her slightly over the table, one eyebrow raised and his crooked smirk rendering her nearly mute._

_"Call it a lesson in the consequences of forgetfulness." Elbows pressed against the table, hands folded together, Claire leaned forward. "Besides, I have yet to see my finder's fee."_

_Rugged features darkened with mock solemnity as he emitted a guttural grunt she'd long ago concluded every Scot was programmed with at birth. "I need proof o' life, Sassenach."_

_Claire bit down on the inside of her cheek, her lips scrunching to the side in a pinched definitely-not-smirk. She reached slowly into her purse, never breaking eye contact, and pulled out the wallet that had sat so casually on her doormat the previous night. A small brown rectangle, half an inch thick and slightly larger than a credit card. "Proof enough for you?"_

_"Aye," he answered, hand raised to accept it._

_But Claire wanted something else in exchange for her hostage._

_Both dark eyebrows shot upward as she pulled the wallet out of reach. "And you really have no spare card? Didn't pull one out before 'losing' your billfold?"_

_His baritone chuckle sent tingles down her spine. "Would my fuel gauge restin' on the E be proof enough for_ ye _?"_

_"Well, then," Claire said before sliding the wallet into her back pocket. "I'll hold onto this until after lunch."_

_"Sassenach--"_

_"Ah, ah, ah," she cut him off with a wag of her finger. "My turn to treat._ Then _you may have your money back."_

"So...ye robbed the lad?"

"Geillis!"

"Fine, fine. Continue. Fuck."

_Settling back in his seat, Jamie frowned at her as he crossed his arms. But a gleam danced in his eyes. "Fine, ye wee beast, ye win. Lunch is on you, then."_

_Two and a half hours, two servings of shepherd's pie, likely an entire pot of tea, and a shared blackberry tarte later, and the Scotsman and Sassenach still sat, heads close together, at the secluded corner table of the cafe. Twenty minutes in, he'd scooted a quarter way around the table and angled his seat toward her. She'd been sharing a Quinn story from earlier in the week, and he had curled his fingers around hers with a tentativeness that set her heart fluttering._

_"I'm sorry," she'd apologized, taking another bite of food with her free hand. "I know I can go on. Probably mundane to anyone who's not me."_

_But he'd only shaken his head and compressed his grip around hers. "I doubt any story of yours could be mundane, Sassenach. No' when yer face lights so wi' the tellin' of it." Claire had studied his eyes, his face, searching for signs of polite but feigned interest. She'd found none._

_As she'd finished her story, the nerves that had driven her to distraction all morning finally dissipated._

"All right, that's a wrap! Wycked, Sass, sweep up!" Coach hollered the order at them before blowing a rolling whistle to signal the end of practice.

"Well, let's hurry then," Geillis said, picking up speed to grab the push brooms from the closet in the corner. "There's no way yer beggin' off tellin' the rest because of work in the mornin'."

The warehouse had likely never been swept so swiftly as Geillis and Claire worked up a fresh sheen skating back and forth with their brooms. Finally, debris and dust collected and disposed of, they de-geared just as quickly. Once they'd packed everything away, Geillis accompanied Claire to her car in the near-empty car park.

"All right. Out wi' the rest of it, then."

_"So, what are your weekend plans?" Claire asked, taking a sip of her tea. A small sip, as she knew that once they'd finished this round, she really should return and collect her child for the evening. At after 4:00 p.m., John, too, would be insufferable and insatiable for details about a lunch meeting (as she'd described it) taking most of the afternoon._

_Spending time with Jamie was like stepping outside the space-time continuum. Hours slid by, and neither even noticed, ensconced in a delightful warmth that only intensified the longer they basked in it._

_Jamie adjusted his hand so his fingers filled the spaces between hers, loosely twined and resting on the table. "I head up tonight tae Lallybroch."_

_"Your family home up north, right?" He'd spoken of it so fondly the night before, detailing summer vacations passed on the ancestral estate._

_"Aye," he affirmed, the briefest flick of his eyebrow betraying his pleasure that she'd remembered. "Ian has a cousin gettin' married."_

_"And Ian is your brother-in-law?"_

_"Two fer two." Jamie smirked, draining his glass. "Likely the last wedding Jenny can run 'fore the bairns come. She's only five months along, ken, but she's already huge. But dinna say I told ye so," he added in a conspiratorial -- and, perhaps, genuinely abashed -- tone._

_"Your secret is safe with me," Claire promised._

_Jamie waited a beat before continuing, his eyes holding hers captive as his thumb swept the outside of her own. A quality somewhat dreamlike colored his voice, and a tremor seemed to pass through him as he smiled at her again and continued on with his plans. "We rent out the place fer a few weddings a year that Jenny coordinates, and can usually make enough to pay the property taxes. Then, of course, all the family weddings are at Lallybroch, too. It's...unbelievable up there, really. I ken I've described it for ye a wee bit, but till ye've seen it, it's difficult tae do it justice. If ye didn't work Sunday, I'd--"_

_His eyes shot wide as he halted, lips clamping together and thumb ceasing its steady path against her skin. Claire had an idea what he'd been about to say. So she turned her chair to face him fully and placed her free hand on top of their joined ones. "You'd what?"_

_Ice blue eyes broke from hers, then, flicking between their hands and the tabletop. Heaving a breath, he mimicked her so that all four hands wove together as he looked up again. "I was gonna say...if ye hadna switched shifts for Sunday morning, I'd ask if ye and the wean wanted to come. Tae see it." A swallow. A tightening of the jaw with a minute shake of the head. "I'm sorry. It's--"_

_"Jamie," Claire hushed him. The inner corners of his brows turned upward, and his chin tucked slightly, his eyes regarding her with timidity._

_"I'm sorry." Pressure increased on her fingers, and his shoulders bunched together and rolled back before he continued."I dinna mean to...to push."_

_"Jamie, it's all right," she assured him again. Inhaling softly through her nose, Claire ran the backs of her knuckles and nails against the inside of his wrist just at his pulse point. "It doesn't bother me."_

_Between her words and touch, Jamie relaxed again, a nervous ghost of a laugh bursting from his lips. And for all she'd meant her caress of his arm to allay his self-consciousness, Claire found a surprising intimacy in the motion. She didn't stop as she spoke again._

_"I'm glad you brought it up, actually. I wanted to...to say something, and I hope you can understand." One nod of encouragement, and she carried on. "I like you, Jamie. I...am drawn to you in a way I can't fully explain to myself let alone put into words." Pausing, averting her gaze as she felt the heat swarm her chest and face, Claire tightened her grip on his hands. By now, they were both clutching the other with a near-desperate force. "But...I have to be careful who I let into my daughter's life. Especially now that she's old enough to really remember people. To miss them if they suddenly aren't around anymore._

_"So until I know for sure where...where we're going, I..."_

_"Ye dinna want me to meet her yet," Jamie finished for her. She raised her eyes again and was relieved to see him smiling. All the air whooshed from her lungs at the sight._

_"You're not angry?"_

_"Nah, lass," he whispered. "Yer a package deal, and she comes first." Gleaming eyes still locked to hers, he lifted their tangle of hands until he could press a kiss to the back of each of hers in a gesture that would've made her weak in the knees had she been standing. "I understand."_

_Warmth prickled at the inner corners of her eyes, but she kept any moisture from escaping as she beamed at him._

_"And on that note," Jamie said, glancing out the window to the waning afternoon light. "I bet the lass is missin' ye, then."_

_"Probably so. And you'll need to be getting on the road, too?"_

_Jamie pulled a hand free to tuck on of her dark curls behind her ear. "Aye."_

_Claire settled the check before meeting Jamie outside the door. He took the lead then, the matter of whether he'd see her home clearly not being in question. Hand in hand, they didn't speak much as they ambled the three blocks toward her apartment. But their fingers slid together and apart, stroking, thumbs twirling round each other and massaging into palms. The blood pounded in Claire's head without pause, heat spreading from that point of contact through her like watercolor, staining her entire being with bliss._

_Finally, they halted before her building. With a triumphant smirk, she pulled his wallet from her back pocket. "Well, here you are. Fill up your tank so I don't worry about you running empty on the way up to Lallybroch tonight."_

_"_ Tapadh leat _," he said before stowing his wallet away with a grin. "As fer yer finder's fee...bear in mind I only had a fiver on me, so..." Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a clear package and handed it over. Inside the plastic baggy was a chain of multicolored discs on an elastic string._

_Her cackling echoed in the still evening air. "Candy bracelet?" she said, opening the package to examine the treat, stretching the elastic between her thumbs and raising a skeptical brow. "I've never had one, actually."_

_"Dinna knock it till ye've tried it, Sassenach. 'Tis a fine delicacy," Jamie insisted as he pulled a second one from his pocket. "And I could afford two for under five quid."_

_With more awe than likely called for considering the trinket at hand, she reached for the second baggy. His words spoken not even fifteen minutes ago rebounded in her mind._ Yer a package deal.

_When she looked to him again, she knew he'd see the moisture pooling in her eyes this time. Grinning to quell the rising emotion, Claire slipped the bracelet on her wrist and chewed experimentally on one of the pastel discs. Tartness exploded and stung behind her jaw._

_"Oh!" Her face scrunched up as she laughed, eyes squeezed shut. "It's sour!"_

_"Ye said ye liked sour," Jamie said as he grabbed her free hand again._

_"I_ do _like sour." She finished chewing the piece in her mouth and swallowed. "Thank you."_

 _Dragging her bottom lip between her teeth, their giggles subsiding, Claire found herself falling again into the abyss of his gaze. A light breeze blew, and the scent of him -- hints of cedar and cinnamon and something indescribably_ him _\-- filled her senses until she was dizzy with it. Blood thrummed beneath her skin as the tension between them mounted, the minutes until he left now numbered. Another goodbye she didn't want to say. But at least tonight, she knew how she'd say it._

_"You missed before," she said, taking his hands in both hers._

_"What?" An adorable quizzical look crossed his face._

_Claire took one step closer. "When I first arrived at Glenna's, you kissed me on the cheek." Short of breath, heart pounding, she pulled his hands to rest on her waist. His breathing shifted then. Short and shallow as she extricated her fingers and raised them, so slowly, to frame his neck. Rough stubble scratched her skin as she glided her thumbs over his jawline. "You missed."_

_"How foolish." The words rushed from him, breathless, as he struggled to volley the banter. "I havena done this...in some time...I must have..."_

_The rest of the bit was lost as Claire closed the distance between them, touching her lips to his. For a moment, they stood still as statues, the shock of that first contact freezing them both._

_Then his hands migrated to the small of her back and crushed her against his body, torsos pressed together. Mouths opened, and Claire ran her tongue alongside his own. A growl rumbling deep from the back of his throat sent bolts of heat through her, yearning building low in her belly, more intense and immediate than she could ever remember. Both, nearly blind with desire, fought for proximity, the better to slake the sudden unquenchable thirst they shared. Red curls tangled between her fingers as her grasp pulled his lips harder against hers._

_His arms -- Jesus H. Roosevelt_ Christ _, those arms solid as steel -- encircled her entire frame and anchored her against him as he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth. She whimpered, a soft vocal catch of her breath, as she dug her fingernails into his scalp, eliciting a gasp of his own. One of his hands cradled her face, smoothing his fingers along the edge of her jaw. Fire erupted in its wake. She trembled with the force of it._

_Lips and tongues slid together, attacking and surrendering. Each pounding heartbeat reverberated through her every bone at a gallop. The world around her began to spin. Oxygen. She needed to breathe. But just the notion of allowing any space between them had her stretching on her toes to close the gap that existed._

_As the tip of his tongue carved a path along the inside of her lip, Claire actually swayed on the spot. Dipping to the side, she pulled away by instinct just as he reacted to catch her. Panting, Jamie grasped her by the hips as he rested his forehead against hers. "Ye alright,_ mo chridhe _?"_

_"Yes," she whispered, gulping in air herself. In his grip, she felt small and safe, like a pearl nestled in an oyster, insulated and precious. Never in her life had a man made her feel so, as though the simple act of sharing words and time with her were a gift. Not until Jamie. Everything thus far -- his touches, his looks, the smallest kindnesses and every moment surrounding them -- exuded respect, tenderness, even gratitude._

_Jamie reached up to dry the droplet that leaked from the outer corner of her eye before it began its descent. "I apologize if 'twas that bad, Sassenach," he murmured, and she felt his lips -- only a breath from her own -- quirk up in a wry smirk. "I'm outta practice, ken?"_

_Claire sniffed and grinned, pinching his arm. "Oh, hush, you."_

_Before he could toss another joke back, she huddled into his chest. Arms desperate to hold him close tightened around his large frame. A contented sigh hissed from above her as he copied her, hands rubbing up and down her back as he laid his cheek atop her head. They stood there until the streetlights flashed to life around them. Squinting against the harsh light, Claire turned her face into his chest and moaned. "That probably means I should go inside," she whispered._

_When he stepped away, he sought and captured her gaze. She recognized his expression as a reflection of her own, delirious want that cast his ice blue eyes several shades darker. She could drown in them, she thought with fascination, those mood-changing irises._

_Her heartbeat timed the seconds they stood in the growing darkness, staring. Seven until he dipped his head to kiss her again, calmer this time. Nine until he parted, placing another one on her forehead. Four until he murmured, "I dinna want to leave ye,_ mo chridhe _, but I must."_

_"You said that before. What does it mean?"_

_Three before he raised her knuckles to his lips, bowing as he kissed them, those deep blue eyes never breaking away from hers. "I'll tell ye someday," he answered. Two until he bade her a, "Goodnight, Sassenach," and eleven until he turned the corner and vanished from her sight._

Geillis leaned against her hand, elbow propped against the top of the car. "So...yer glowin' from a make-out session?" Claire figured her blush and the grin that grew of its own volition across her face served as answer enough, so remained quiet. With a low whistle, Geillis shoved away from the car. "Well, all I'll say is when he finally does bed ye, ye may wanna prime yerself wi' some porn or something beforehand, or yer likely tae feckin' pass out at the sight of his cock."

"Seriously, G!" Claire aimed a swat at her arm, which Geillis dodged with a cackle. But she was laughing, too. She'd never admit it, either, but having been on the receiving end of Jamie's kiss, she wasn't unconvinced of her friend's assessment, meant in jest or not.

Three times she'd seen him, perhaps ten hours in total. Yet Jamie had managed to embed himself within her, vines crawling and weaving through stone, changing its very structure until neither could exist without the other. Thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

Of course, nothing was that simple. Every step of the process, of this...relationship?...had to be meticulously planned, Quinn at the heart of each decision. Deep as she already was, Claire knew she could never commit fully until she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could accept Quinn, that she would accept Jamie.Because if that pairing didn't work, neither would hers.

But Claire recalled the look of delight when she'd presented Quinn with her matching candy bracelet the next day, her overflowing glee as they sat on the couch, watching a movie and munching on their sour candies together. All because Jamie had spent his meager few dollars on an extra treat instead of petrol. After having abandoned his wallet on her doorstep as an excuse to see her. And her worry abated further.

Her friend's face softened as a genuine smile filled her face. She ran her hand along Claire's arm. "Ye look happy, and from what ye've said, he cares about ye and the lass already. Which makes him a winner in my book. More'n any of the others, at least. Just ken if he so much as breathes on ye wrong, I have connections and no one will ever hear from him again." With a peck on the cheek, Geillis grabbed her gear and turned toward her own car a few spots away before Claire could respond.

Chuckling to herself, she loaded up her bags and was just about to climb in the driver's seat when Geillis shouted for her attention.

"Ye said he called you somethin' in Gaelic. I could probably tell ye what he said if ye remember what it sounded like."

Standing behind her open door, Claire thought back to the timbre of his voice when he'd said it both times, low and rough. The way his eyelids had fluttered, how his fingers had clutched at her as though dreading the moment he'd need to release her. And she shook her head. "That's all right. I'd rather hear it from him."

#

Jamie checked his watch again, and Jenny scoffed. With a roll of her eyes, she stood from the couch and made for the kitchen. "'Tis only two minutes further along than the last time ye looked, brother," she called back in a teasing lilt.

The wedding had gone off without a hitch, and the festivities continued late into Saturday night. Family members not felled by hangovers Sunday morning partook in a quieter, more intimate day of celebration before the newlyweds left for their honeymoon in the evening. Jamie had stayed behind Monday to help his sister and Ian break down the decor and close the house up before they all departed the next morning.

Exhausted from a long weekend, they'd put the bairns to bed and all collapsed around the fire in the sitting room after supper, the men enjoying drams while Jenny nursed sparkling grape juice. Ian had already retired an hour hence, and so Jenny and Jamie caught up alone. Though, he admitted, he'd been somewhat distracted as the night grew old.

He checked again. 9:49. Claire's practice ended at 9:30. She'd said that by ten o'clock, she'd likely be in for the night.

Three days since he'd seen her, since he'd kissed her (or, really, since she'd kissed him), and he craved her nearness fiercely. He knew with another 12-hour shift the next day and his own work obligations after taking a day off, it would likely be several days or even the weekend before they could see each other again.

Until then, he'd have to make do with texts and FaceTime.

When Jenny returned to the room, a glass of water in hand, his eyes were cast down once again to his watch.

"She's special, then?" Jenny asked as she sat beside him, sipping on her glass.

Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have quashed the smile that lit his face. "Aye, Jen. She is."

Jamie hadn't spoken much of Claire since arriving on Friday night, though Jenny knew him well enough that she'd immediately demanded an explanation not only for his tardiness but the giddiness still bubbling over. He'd laid out the basics, then answered sporadic questions in the subsequent days. But as much as he could, he wanted Claire to himself for a time. It had been so long since he'd been with anyone or even wanted to be, and she _was_ special beyond description. Jamie wanted to delay sharing her, even the idea of her, with anyone just yet.

A long, heavy sigh sounded from Jenny to his left. She massaged a hand over her belly. "Brother, I ken ye like her. 'Tis plain as the nose on yer face," Jenny started, her tone growing serious enough to warrant a look up from his watch. "And I dinna mean to...disparage her or discourage you. But just...tread carefully. Datin' a woman with a bairn adds a whole new layer of complications. And she hasna told ye anything of the father, where he is or whether there's anythin' to worry about there. Wi' everything ye've gone through, all ye've done tae move beyon--"

"I appreciate it, Jen," Jamie interrupted. On some level, through the haze of agitation, he did. He recognized that his sister's comments came from a place of care, not malice. Of knowing how far gone he'd been for a time and of watching him claw his way back.

Smothering the urge to lash out, Jamie attempted a placating smile in her direction. Truth was, even if he'd wanted to heed her advice, he'd long ago ceded control to the fast-growing attachment. From the moment he'd seen her with gold glitter sparkling on her cheeks and selling plastic cups of beer in a warehouse, a seed had been planted deep in his soul. Every day, its roots dug further into him. With every conversation, every meeting, every wondrous laugh that set his heart to booming, its stalk grew and bloomed with increasing speed, each flower more radiant than the last. If ever came the time to dig it up and toss it out, Jamie knew the damage would break him.

So he settled for the best version of the truth he could offer. "I'll do my best."

She fixed him with a searching look, lips pressed tight together. "I'm glad yer happy, Jamie. Truly. I just...dinna want anythin' or anyone to hurt ye."

The smile came easier this time, and he reached out to take his sister's hand, holding it in a moment of silence.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he nearly dropped it as he pulled his hand back and scrambled to pull it out. 9:56.

_Any idea where I can find broccoli that tastes like sour candies? Asking for a (very tiny) friend._

Jamie exhaled a laugh, hand rubbing over his mouth. _Dinnertime tonight must've been a hoot_ , he thought.

"Go on wi' yerself, then. Give her a call." Jenny shooed him away in a playful tone. Standing, he leaned over to kiss her temple before leaping up the stairs as quietly as he could at full speed.

As he closed the door to his room and laid across the bed, typing back his response, another message came in from Claire. The blowing-a-kiss emoji. His stomach flipped as though she'd actually kissed him again. Pausing in his typing, his finger traced over his bottom lip as he replayed for likely the thousandth time the memory of how she'd lunged in and taken it between her own, the tingling that had lingered nearly until he'd arrived at Lallybroch hours later.

A voice came, unbidden, to his mind.

 _When I met yer mother,_ a ruadh _, every cell o' my body lit up like lightnin' when she was near. 'Twas God tapping me on the shoulder, showin' me the soul he'd crafted to walk through life beside me. He'll tap ye someday, lad, and show you yers, too. Just be patient._

For once, the ache of remembering his father never materialized. Only fondness and gratitude. Lifting his phone, tapping on her number, Jamie silently let his Da know that he'd been right. His wait was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derby notes:  
> \- Geillis's Derby name is "Wycked Sista" It's common for teammates to call you by a shortened version of your derby name (Wycked/Sass) or your true name, usually depending on how they met you (if they met you as Claire before you chose a name, for instance, or met you as "Sass N Whack.")
> 
> \- 27/5: So in order to be cleared to play in most games, you have to demonstrate a basic aptitude at a number of specific, different skills. This is known as minimum skills testing (MSTs). One of these is the pretty much universally loathed 27/5, 27 laps around the track in 5 minutes. This is essentially a mile in 5 minutes and is quite a feat of endurance. Now, things get even more complex because just recently (like, within the last few weeks/months), WFTDA (the flat track derby governing organization) essentially disbanded MSTs, including the 27/5; going forward, essentially, each league will be setting its own standards for qualifying/rostering. This has been....controversial. But for the sake of ease and storytelling, our universe here is dealing with the old qualifying rules. 
> 
> Random notes:  
> -I was watching Derry Girls last week and cracking up at Orla munching on her candy necklace in one of the episodes, so it had to make an appearance. 
> 
> -It hasn't really come up yet. I'm guessing it will at some point, but John's/Hector's jobs are both essentially flexible/work at home jobs. Hector is some kind of artist (haven't really landed on it yet), and John does freelance ghost writing. I think. This may change slightly once it actually comes into play in the plot, but he's definitely a freelancer of some kind and essentially this is why they're generally home and able to take Quinn at odd times. 
> 
> -On that note, Claire's general nursing hours will be Mon-Wed 6a-6p. I kinda mentioned it in there for a split second, but she swapped shifts with someone this week, so she's Sunday-Tuesday. Also, derby practices are Monday and Thursday, 7:30-9:30. Same as mine :) Hers and Jamie’s Thursday date night fell on a night when they didn’t have practice; for our league, it depends on how often we can afford to rent a rink. Since Claire’s team has a warehouse, so that wouldn’t normally be a problem. But sometimes there are still nights that practice skips or is canceled, etc. Not super important but there you go :)


	6. Afar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different events make Jamie and Claire both consider what they have together...and what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that I struggled with a bit but ended up in a place that I absolutely adore. Some big realizations, big steps happening here. ;) 
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading and commenting and loving these crazy kids as much as I do!

When it came to letting loose with a stiff drink and a good meal, Thirsty Thursday had clearly usurped the crown previously held by TGIF. Or, at least, thus Claire deduced as she stood in The Ridge's lobby, squished between Geillis and Louise on one side and a pair of middle-aged women in business attire on the other. From noon to 4:00 every Thursday, The Ridge lured in diners with half-priced cocktails and a surprise chef's choice appetizer that changed weekly. And as a result, scores of hungry diners arrived early and stretched their lunch breaks to enjoy a meal, a drink (or two) the boss need not know about, and the utter relief of knowing that Friday had almost arrived.

Judging by Geillis's pout and crossed arms, the dense crowd and the beeper held in hand severely dampened any near-weekend relief as they stood, awaiting an open table. "I swear I made a reservation," she huffed.

Louise only laughed, uncrossing her twined arms and lacing her ten fingers with Geillis's. "Don't worry over it, G." A sweet smile dimpled her cheeks. Her mild French accent lent her words a cavalier air. "I do not mind waiting."

"But it's yer _birthday_. Ye shouldna have tae wait on yer birthday."

"And we will not," Louise answered, sweet morphing into wily. She nudged Claire with her elbow without loosening her grip on Geillis's hands. " _We_ are off today, which means we can wait at the bar, and the time will fly like that," she finished with a snap of her fingers.

Claire nudged her back with a smirk. She'd hired into the Royal Infirmary A&E nearly four years ago, two months postpartum, and had worked alongside Louise on a heart-stopping multi-car pileup her second day on the job. An instant friendship had sprung up, for which Claire -- short on female companionship -- had been all too grateful. Exploring Edinburgh on a random Saturday night out a few weeks later, they'd stumbled upon the Reekie Rollers in their seasonal debut bout. A starstruck Claire had dragged Louise to the after party, where a gregarious Geillis had spent hours going over the finer points of derby. But her green eyes had sparkled just so whenever they'd lighted upon Louise, who had little interest in the game but left that night with G's phone number. Claire, on the other hand, departed with a soon-to-be best friend and a budding obsession. Six months later, after she'd weaned Quinn and was cleared by her physician (and with no little prodding from John), Claire had bought skates and attended her first practice.

So, as far as Claire was concerned, she owed Louise twice over.

Geillis moped all the way over to the bar, a jovial Louise tugging her along by the hand and Claire hustling to keep up. She found an empty space, and they each staked a claim to a bit of bar to lean against. "Three mimosas, _s'il vous plait_ ," Louise ordered over the hubbub at the counter. "And it's my birthday, so do not hold back, _ma cherie_!"

Standing at the bar, Louise continued to coax Geillis out of her annoyance as they waited, planting humming little kisses over her cheeks and nose and finally a quick peck on her lips. "Och, ye temptress, yer no fair," Geillis muttered, but her grumpy demeanor melted away as Louise continued to tease.

Claire smiled at them and leaned her back against the bar, eyes scanning the crowd. The dining room was huge, every table packed and more parties standing in the entryway. Myriad sounds merged together into a wonderful cacophony that wrapped around her like a well-worn shawl. Some may have found such bustling noise grating, but Claire relished it. Perhaps that was part of why she thrived in the A&E. At work, it was the flurry of urgency that meant literal life or death. But places like this, it was the thrum of life, that messy and joyful quality she fought to preserve in every patient.

In either place, that white noise of constant activity infiltrated her spirit, bringing her a satisfied peace.

Louise handed her a chilled mimosa, light on the juice, before turning back to Geillis. Claire didn't mind so much; they three had been good friends since that fateful night nearly four years ago now, which meant she rarely felt like a third wheel. Still, though, when Louise felt extra flirty -- like, say, when celebrating turning _flirty thirty_ \-- she gave them their space and took the time to people-watch.

As her eyes glossed over the multitude of people, a familiar shock of red caught her gaze. Biting her lip, she stood on tiptoe for a better view. Sure enough, there sat Jamie at a table with three other men, one of whom she recognized as Dougal Mackenzie. He'd mentioned the previous night he had a lunch meeting today, another attempt to sanitize his uncle's grimy reputation.

_"One of our biggest distributors threatened tae pull out weeks ago," he'd explained. Even over the phone, he'd sounded both embarrassed and exhausted. "It's been a constant 'will they, won't they' for weeks now. Hopefully a new contract and a wee bit of crow-eatin' from Dougal himself will convince them that stickin' with Mack is the most profitable avenue."_

Judging by his steely demeanor and the hard line of his jaw, Jamie was enjoying the meeting about as much as he'd expected to. With a cheeky smirk, Claire pulled out her phone.

 _You know you'll never get the contract inked looking like that._ Send.

Her heartbeat quickened as she watched him pull his phone from his pocket, eyebrows scrunching as he read. A moment later, his head snapped up, eyes searching. Taking pity on him -- the restaurant was large, full to the brim, and she was likely hidden by taller patrons -- Claire sent a mimosa emoji as a hint. After a quick look back at his screen and a glance to the other men speaking at his table, Jamie trained his eyes on the bar. The moment he found her, the corners of his lips twitched up as she raised her glass in silent greeting. He nodded slightly before bending back over his phone.

**_How is it I look to you, Sassenach?_ **

_Like you're witnessing a flogging. Or being flogged._

_**Well, that's not far from reality.** _

_Which one?_

**_Yes._ **

Claire snorted and looked up toward him through her lashes. Having shifted in his seat, he now sat in his chair at nearly a 45-degree angle, elbow on the table and body facing her. When he looked up, far away as he was, she could read his delight perfectly. She imagined the blue of his eyes would land somewhere between ice and powder.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, a moon emoji popping up on her screen.

"I'll be right back," she murmured to her lunch mates.

"You haven't finished your drink!" Louise whined, lip pouting.

"Drink it for me, birthday girl," Claire teased, stepping from the bar. "And order me another. I won't be five minutes."

A vibrant mural depicting a woodsy nightscape covered one of The Ridge's exterior brick walls. Black trees stood silhouetted against a full white moon lighting an inky blue sky with a wolf howling, the colors vibrant and sharp. Hoping she'd interpreted Jamie's text correctly, Claire exited and made her way around back toward it.

By the time she turned the corner, a pair of arms wrapped around her and she felt the shape of his smirk as he nuzzled into her neck. Her stomach flipped, and heat stabbed through it as she instinctively layered her arms over his across her middle.

"This is a pleasant surprise," he breathed against her skin, raising goosebumps as she fought for breath. She turned and laced her arms around his neck, an identical grin spreading across her face as she studied his eye color. Slightly darker than she'd wagered, the blue of the sky as the sun dipped just below the horizon.

Before she could respond, Jamie pressed her against the rough painted brick and took her lips. A sigh passed through her as she welcomed him. He swallowed it and answered with his own, fingers flexing against her waist. Her arms tightened around his neck, pulling him closer as she indulged his greedy mouth.

Several minutes later, heartbeat echoing in her ears, Jamie pulled away slowly, dragging her lower lip between his teeth. A lazy grin brightened his face and made her heart flutter as he leaned his forehead against hers. "Sorry, Sassenach," he said between heaving breaths. "Seein' ye standin' there in those jeans, curls all wild...couldna help myself."

"I thought that's what you were doing," she whispered back.

He chuckled, a rumble from the back of his throat. "Touché."

For a moment, they stood in silence, sharing space and air. Her fingers grazed his jawline, his held her tight about the waist. Touching her lips to the tip of his nose, Claire straightened up. "So the meeting's going that well, then?"

Groaning, Jamie rolled his eyes and leaned his head back as though requesting a mercy killing from on high. "The distributor's no' impressed. And if they walk, we could lose nearly a quarter of our overseas market."

Claire grimaced. "I'm sorry."

Jamie sighed, bringing his hand up to brush a curl behind her ear, evoking a fuzziness in her head incommensurate with the small gesture. His smile didn't reach his eyes as he spoke. "Problem is Colum wants the easiest way out and doesna want tae actually deal wi' Dougal, but everyone sees through it. Yerself included, if ye remember." He shook his head with a scowl. "He wants Dougal to shuffle his feet and apologize, then throw money at the 'right' organizations to show how enlightened they actually are. What he needs to do is remove Dougal entirely and focus more on changin' company culture and increasing employee diversity. But that would involve believin' actions speak louder than money." He rolled his eyes with another scoff.

As she opened her mouth to respond, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She flashed him an apologetic smile as she pulled it out. A message from Geillis in the three-way group chat. _Table's ready. If you're not back in thirty seconds, you better at least have a dirty story to share._

Heat rose in her chest, half embarrassment, half desire to bring a truly brunch-worthy story to the table. "It's Louise's birthday, and I snuck away to make out behind the restaurant. I am the worst friend ever," she murmured through a chortle.

"Well, no worse than I. I'm on the clock. But what kind of man could resist a siren's song such as ye?" In an instant, his smile grew sincere again as he leaned in for a quick goodbye kiss, tongue flicking her upper lip as he pulled away, sending a bolt of want strong as lightning straight through her. "I'll call ye tonight?"

"Looking forward to it."

Jamie re-entered first, Claire counting to twelve before walking back in behind him, eyes averted from the table near the front where Jamie had presumably returned. She spotted Geillis and Louise at a table in the center and made her way there, sitting at the empty chair with the full mimosa waiting. "Wasn't so long of a wait then," she said innocently, ignoring their pointed looks as she took a sip.

Louise looked exaggeratedly over her shoulder for a moment before turning to Geillis. "So that's the fox, then?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Guys--"

"The photos do him absolutely no justice."

Geillis giggled, ogling openly toward Jamie's table. "Ye should see him up close."

"Come on, seriously?" she hissed as they both cackled mercilessly.

As her laughter quieted, Louise turned to Claire, brown eyes calculating. Every second her gaze lingered, Claire felt her face warming, her own dopey grin harder and harder to fight. Finally, Louise turned back to Geillis. "Eight months."

"I'm sorry, what--"

"Yer daft," Geillis responded, completely ignoring Claire's sputtering. "Five tops."

"Guys, come on--"

"Have ye gotten a good look at the lad, hen?" Geillis cast another none-so-subtle glance toward the table where Jamie sat. "I dinna peg him as the type tae propose on Valentine's Day, if only 'cause I doubt he'd be able to wait that long. No, I give it four months till a ring. Or at least movin' in."

Claire followed her sightline, stomach swooping as her eyes clashed with his blues staring straight at her, a lopsided grin and the diluted light from the window behind rendering him absolutely breathtaking. She didn't break eye contact as Geillis and Louise continued on, not bothering to keep their volume down.

Jamie's attention snapped back to his own table, the other men all looking at him. Claire ducked her own head just in time as Dougal, brow furrowed, turned toward her.

"All right, all right. Let's move along, then," Claire encouraged her friends as she took another long draw from her glass. Still smirking, her friends said no more as conversation turned toward other topics.

Through the rest of lunch and into the afternoon, Claire's mind drifted back to their lighthearted jesting. The question of possible engagements seemed preposterous when he hadn't even met Quinn yet. Under no circumstances would she even entertain the idea until then.

And they'd known each other for just less than a month! How anyone could be thinking of such things as rings and marriage and _forever_ flabbergasted Claire. Even before Frank, before Quinn, she'd never been the little girl dreaming of pouffy white dresses and expensive flowers and lace invitations.

Yet the thought of Jamie in a tux -- or, _God_ , a kilt; he seemed the type for it -- waiting at the end of a long aisle filled her with longing like nothing else. The thought of coming home to his gentle touches ( _and, perhaps, not-so-gentle, given the right circumstance_ , she thought with a shiver) filled her with an unreasonable excitement.

Whenever the images danced in her mind, Claire shook her head, banishing the tempting fantasy. Far too soon for such ideations. The rational part of her brain reminded her how easily their blissful little bubble could pop. A voice, sounding far too like her own, chastised her for getting ahead of herself. Nothing was guaranteed. She didn't really know him yet. He may still disappoint her yet.

Soon as it was, a sense of safety enveloped her in his presence. But with safety came complacency, and falling complacent could end with shattered hearts for both Beauchamp women. On her own, she'd consider it forfeit, a steep but perhaps fair price for the exhilaration of experiencing Jamie. But she couldn't let such darkness touch her child.

No, until she could trust him with Quinn, no sense in imagining bells and violins and dresses and kilts. Until then, "forever" didn't exist.

#

Jamie hated the mall. Too crowded, too noisy, and too many salespeople vying for his attention made for an always-stressful outing. But Claire's birthday was coming up -- October 21st, days away -- and, for all its shortcomings, the mall also provided a plethora of options from which to choose.

If only he had _some_ notion of what would be appropriate to get the woman of his dreams whom he'd known for barely five weeks. And who hadn't even been the one to inform him that the big day was approaching.

_Three weeks after their first kiss, both Jamie's and Claire's schedules absolutely exploded. Jamie with handling the fallout of one of Mack's overseas distributors cutting ties, Claire with hospital understaffing that led to usually one, if not two overtime shifts per week. It had been nine days since he'd seen her at The Ridge, the last time they'd met in person, and he was starved for her. As they FaceTimed each other at night, sometimes so exhausted all they could do was bid the other goodnight before hanging up, Jamie thought -- or, maybe, hoped -- she missed him as desperately. Her sad smiles, the way she'd pause after saying goodnight, as though not yet wanting to disconnect. How she'd jumped at his offer for a coffee over lunch that Wednesday, even if they'd only have twenty minutes together. The light behind her eyes as they'd coordinated their schedules served as a beacon of joy that had kept him sane for the three days between._

_Taking a seat on the agreed bench outside the hospital at 11:55 a.m., coffees and sandwiches in hand, Jamie crossed one ankle over the other knee and waited. His foot wiggled in the air, too eager to sit still. When she bounded out the doors and over toward him, his heart pounded against his rib cage. Hair wild, circles under her eyes, scrubs wrinkled and a mystery substance splattered across her top. But Jamie didn't care. Abandoning their drinks on the bench, he stood and closed the distance, scooping her up in his arms. High-pitched squeals rang in his ears as he twirled around on the spot before setting her back down._

_"Jesus H. Christ, I'm a mess," she said in an apologetic tone, a crease deepening between her eyebrows. "I'm so--"_

_He stopped her with a kiss. Every time his lips touched hers, he melted, and he felt her melt against him. Cool fingers framing his neck, minty breath making his tongue tingle as it danced with hers. Jamie drew away for air but stood close to her. "Dinna dare apologize to me, Sassenach," he breathed. Beaming at him, cheeks flushed, Claire kissed him again before pulling him over to the bench._

_Lunch was perfect, except for how short it was. After only thirty-five minutes, they were saying goodbye again so Jamie could leave in time to return to the office before his break ended. They parted ways with another lingering kiss and promises to plan a real date soon, Claire assuring him that after another week, the overtime should be finished...she hoped._

_By the time he arrived back at the office, his chest already ached with the missing her again. Sitting at his desk moments later, he flinched as his phone vibrated in his pocket with a text from a strange number._

_**Hello, wee fox. Claire's friend Louise here. She refuses to tell you herself so I broke into her phone for your number. Her birthday's coming up, 21/10. In case you wanted to do whatever magic it is that puts her in such high spirits.** _

Passing by shop after shop, mind whirring, Jamie tried to quiet the roiling nerves in his gut. Atop the normal anxiety of not knowing at all what would be a reasonable gift at this stage sat the added pressure of recreating _whatever magic it is_ between him and Claire. As if the inexplicable force that electrified her touch or the magnetic pull between them could be recreated artificially. Though Jamie couldn't deny that reading Louise's text, imagining Claire returning to her shift from their brief lunch date with the same grin on her face as he knew he'd worn all day, filled him with satisfaction.

He'd wandered around a department store for the better part of an hour, considering then immediately discarding a million different ideas (was jewelry too much for a five-week-old relationship? a scarf too impersonal? perfume too suggestive? a gift card a total cop-out?). With a frustrated groan, Jamie was heading for the exit when his ears pricked to a familiar name spoken in a deep English accent.

"Quinn, love, slow down or you'll knock someone over."

Jamie froze steps from the door. His pulse skyrocketed as he turned, hoping for a surreptitious glance. After a moment of searching, he spied them twenty yards away. A tall, fair main with straight brown hair that fell into his eyes lifting to his hip a wee lass with dark curls, giggling and rosy-cheeked. Anxiety anew washed over him in a wave as he jerked away, eyes in the opposite direction.

That had to be _Claire's_ John. Which would make that _Claire's_ Quinn.

Somehow, even though it had been by sheer coincidence, he felt wrong being near them. She hadn't yet brought him into that part of her life. Even as raging curiosity begged him to turn and look again, just to see what they both looked like in real life, Jamie kept his head facing away.

He had to leave. Now.

One leaden footstep, then another. He forced himself to move toward the exit and into the main vestibule of the mall. Quickening his pace as he put space between himself and the Beauchamps, he trained his gaze straight ahead. All he heard was his own breathing as his vision and hearing muted, narrowing into an adrenaline-induced tunnel vision.

Sharp aromas of the food court brought him out of his trance-like state just in time for his stomach to growl; he'd been meandering aimlessly all morning. The nerves eventually quieted and dissipated as Jamie sat at a table, a water bottle and oversized pretzel in hand to quell the sudden hunger. Bite after bite, the flight instinct faded from him, replaced by embarrassment at his overreaction. It wasn't like he'd followed them intentionally. Claire would've understood. People run into each other. It happens. Hell, had he not heard John speak, they could've both passed by, neither the wiser.

Yet Jamie couldn't quite dispel the feeling that he'd somehow been an invader, an unwelcome voyeur. Perhaps it was knowing who they were but not being known in return. Had they turned and seen him, he'd have been a stranger to them. Not their sister's-slash-mother's...boyfriend?

Jamie groaned and shut his eyes. Christ, they hadn't even _had_ this conversation yet. Claire's "disclosure" made it clear it was unlikely that she was dating multiple men, and he knew he wasn't scheduling other women around Claire. The labels had hardly seemed necessary.

The sudden realization of their untitled...whatever it was only put the pressure back on for the gift. An iron fist clenched his stomach as he returned to his original source of stress.

His mind spiraled from one anxiety to the other. He was a pier amidst a hurricane of uncertainty, winds and waves thrashing at him and his wooden boards groaning and buckling.Old thought patterns he'd spent so much time recalibrating threatened to drown him. Flashes of waking nightmares passed before his eyes, all ending with Claire leaving.

Throwing the last few bites of his pretzel onto the plate, Jamie leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair, never minding that they were still salty. Eyes closed, forehead resting on the table (another likely unsanitary choice, but Jamie disregarded it), he forced slow, steady breaths in and out.

On some level, he knew this was ridiculous. A simple birthday gift shouldn't be this difficult. Shouldn't have so much riding on it. But with Louise's text echoing in his brain, this felt somewhat like a test he absolutely could not fail.

 _Breathe in, lad_ , he told himself. _Breathe out._

Jamie let the mindless mantra repeat, following his internal instruction until the worst had passed. He sat up, head no longer fuzzy with worry and stomach calm.

 _Whatever magic it is,_ she had written. Going over these last few weeks, Jamie dissected the glorious moments when he'd witnessed Claire absolutely glow. Her magic moments.

And suddenly, he knew what to do.

#

October 21st was a fairly typical Tuesday for Claire. She woke, fixed breakfast for two, and dressed for work. Louise wished her a happy birthday, as did the handful of other people close enough to know her birthday. Whenever she could throughout the day, she texted with Jamie.

Louise seemed extra deflated when Claire answered her for the millionth time that, no, she hadn't told Jamie it was her birthday, so no, he hadn't wished her a happy one. She shrugged it off.

Besides not generally being overly flashy for birthdays (hers, at least), there had never been an organic moment to pop in with, _By the way, my birthday is coming up._ Every time Geillis or Louise had prodded her to tell him or she'd tried to find the right time to say it, the words had caught in her throat. Maybe it was too early to expect some kind of special gesture or gift. Maybe it was just another string that would've connected them, one small piece of herself kept hidden away. In case.

Twelve hours passed on a forgettable if not unpleasant day, and Claire picked Quinn up from the hospital daycare (where John, bless his soul, dropped her off when they opened at 8:00 a.m. whenever she worked). Walking home together, Claire oohed and awed as Quinn swung their clasped hands back and forth, waxing as poetic as a three-year-old can about her day.

A small box with an envelope sat outside her door. Claire's heart jumped at the sight, confusion playing second fiddle to the thrill of anticipation. Seemed no one is immune to presents.

"Mummy, is't for your birthday?" Quinn asked, skipping up to give the box a closer inspection.

"Maybe. I'm not sure, Quinnie. Want to take it in and open it?"

Claire unlocked the door, but Quinn stayed by her side, bouncing on the balls of her feet as her mother bent to bring the box inside. Setting the box carefully back on the kitchen floor and swiping the card from the top, Claire looked to Quinn. "You can unwrap it, but remember to be gentle."

Sounds of ripping paper cut through the air. Claire chuckled at her daughter as she pulled the paper from the envelope and flipped it open.

 _Sassenach_.

She looked up from the paper as her heart leapt to read the pet name scrawled in relaxed writing across the top of the page. Swallowing, Claire went on.

_I'll have to chide you when we speak tonight for not telling me of your birthday. You have your reasons, though I have to say I'm glad Louise gave me the heads up. It's killed me today not to call or even text you happy birthday, but I wanted this to be a surprise._

"Mission accomplished," Claire murmured under her breath.

_I spent days agonizing over what would be the best, most appropriate, most meaningful way I could tell you happy birthday, Sassenach. And as every idea I had fell short, I realized you don't care overmuch for bits and baubles. You care about thought and meaning._

_We've been dancing around words unsaid for weeks. Maybe we've both hidden from them a little bit. Now, I want to say them._

Moisture built behind her eyes. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as she fought the emotion long enough to read the letter.

_Claire, I yearn for you when you're not around. And when you're near, the air is sweeter and the sun is warmer. Touching you, Sassenach, sends literal shockwaves over my skin. And kissing you,_ mo chridhe _...I never knew what perfection felt like until you told me to kiss you that first time then leaned in to do it yourself._

 _You asked me what that meant that night._ Mo chridhe _, the Gaelic for 'my heart.' From that very first night at the warehouse, you were, Sassenach. Strong and fierce and wily and beautiful and caring and tender and...just absolutely incredible. Every minute I spend by your side, I wish for a thousand more._

_I know you have to be careful, for yourself and for Quinn. I tried to be careful, too, in a way. I think we both have some hurt we haven't yet shared. But I don't want to be careful anymore. I am in this. I don't want casual with you. I want something real. Nothing's ever felt as real as the time time I spend with you, down to the stolen moments and the falling asleep on our phones at night._

_Writing this, I am praying harder than I've prayed for anything that you want that, too. But I won't push you, or rush you. Not on the labels, or on Quinn, or anything else._

_I hope you'll call me tonight, Sassenach. But if you don't, I understand it and I don't begrudge you for it. Just know, if you did, you could trust me. And that's my gift for you, Claire. My word._

"Mummy, why're you crying?"

Claire started as Quinn hugged her around the legs, round whisky eyes so like her own looking up in concern.

Chuckling, Claire stooped to her daughter's level. "I'm all right, lovey."

Her tiny brow furrowed, a pink lip pouting. "Well, you can't cry on your _birthday_ ," she said solemnly. "Birthdays are happy."

"I am happy," she whispered. She placed a gentle kiss on Quinn's knitted eyebrows, easing the tiny worry line from between them. Biting her lips, she let the fresh tears roll down her face. "I'm happy, Q." Quinn regarded her with confusion, unable to reconcile her mother's words with her wet cheeks.

Claire nodded to the box again. "Should we open it and see what's inside?" The suggestion erased the dubious look from her daughter's face as she clapped her hands together. With her help, Quinn opened the box to find a plastic container with two frosted cupcakes inside, two virgin candles and a matchbook laying beside them. Another white envelope sat on top.

_That, plus a wee bite of cake and candles for you both to blow out. Happy birthday, Sassenach._

"Cake! Can we have cake, Mummy?" Quinn asked, voice high-pitched with glee.

Claire stood, smiling. "After supper, all right?"

It took another forty-five minutes to get Quinn cleaned up from the day and settled in front of the telly. Presumably for Claire to cook dinner. But as she hovered in the kitchen doorway, she whipped her phone out. She stared at the screen, breathing deeply as she hit his contact.

He answered on the second ring. "Happy birthday," he said. Something like giddy relief dripped from his voice, so thick she could all but feel it seeping into her own skin.

"Thank you," she said, biting the inside of her cheek. A silence stretched between them, his unsaid-now-said words hanging over them. His gift -- his vow -- thickened the air.

Claire cleared her throat. "Your letter was lovely, Jamie."

"I meant it all, Sassenach," he whispered, voice gravelly. "Every word. E'en the ones about no' rushin' ye if yer no' ready, if--"

"You're not. Rushing me, I mean." She swallowed. "I...I want those things, too. With you."

A muffled sniffle came through over the line, and she wondered if he was crying as she'd been. As she nearly was now. "Thank Christ," he breathed over the line, and she couldn't help but laugh. His own joined with hers, and for a minute, they giggled together like lovestruck teenagers.

_No more hiding._

Claire nodded, taking the last step out of her hiding place into plain sight.

"Jamie, would you want to come over for dinner Friday night?" A breath, shaky on the exhale. "Quinn will be here. I'd...I'd like you to meet her."

The hitch of his own breath was soft, but she heard it. When he answered, she was positive he was fighting back tears as surely as she was. "Aye, Sassenach. I'd like that very much."

Pulse racing, stomach clenched in nerves, hands practically shaking with adrenaline. But as soon as he answered, it all disappeared. And the voice of worry in the back of her mind never uttered a single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check me out on tumblr, isthisclever.tumblr.com!
> 
> \- I don't know if Scotland has malls like the US does. It's like 1 am here now and my head hurts and I didn't feel like looking it up. So I mean...roll with it. 
> 
> \- Took me *forever* to figure out what Jamie would do for Claire's birthday. My husband and I don't really exchange big birthday or Christmas gifts, mostly small trinkets if anything at all. But last year, I wrote him a dopey little love note. He cried, and he keeps it on his desk. And I realized that Claire doesn't really care about getting stuff. But speaking the feelings they've been keeping under wraps, under the flirtiness, would mean more to her. I hope it rings true for you. 
> 
> \- Not much derby in this chapter but I'm not mad about it! One thing to note is nursing mothers are not encouraged to participate, particularly in contact, as their bones are more susceptible to injury. A teammate of mine knows someone who broke her collarbone playing, likely because she was breastfeeding. I haven't looked up the "recovery" times or anything on how long after you stop breatfeeding you'd be cleared for contact. Always consult a doctor. 
> 
> \- I've been working off a very vague calendar in my head. Essentially, Claire/Jamie first met early September, first kiss two weeks later. Their meeting at The Ridge is early October, their coffee date middle October, then of course her birthday Oct. 21. Hope that makes sense! I believe it tracks with what's happened so far but please forgive me if there's an inconsistency.


	7. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire both tackle obstacles in their path the day before the big meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pumped this chapter out pretty quickly, largely in an effort to buy myself time on the next (BIG) chapter. Good news is that one is like 70 percent done, but I just need more time on it, so....I'm stalling. Plus it's been a chapter or so since we've had anything skating related, so...here it is. ;) 
> 
> Possible TW: Discussion of Dougal's indiscretions re: sexual harassment in the workplace.

"Jamie, be _reasonable_ , lad."

As if he'd been anything but all morning. Standing before his uncle's desk, Jamie counted five deep breaths as he fought for calm. "One of us here is reasonable, Colum, and it isna you."

" _Pah_." His uncle flapped a dismissive hand at him. "Mackenzie Distillery has been in our family fer generations. 'Tis Dougal's birthright as much as mine, and I wilna force him out while he bears the name 'Mackenzie.'"

"Dougal forfeited his _birthright_ when he decided that company performance reviews included compulsory blow jobs," he seethed. "Even more so when he blackmailed the women wi' the videos should they try and speak against him."

Jamie paced before his uncle's desk, changing tack to try to reach Colum on a level he cared about. "Yer shares are down forty-three percent. Three distributors have cut their contracts short, including yer sole supply line tae the States. If ye dinna do something drastic, ye wilna be able to pay yer staff by year's end."

"Ye said yerself the public outrage is dyin' down! If we just wait--"

"Because the full details havena yet got out," Jamie countered. Mack's lawyers had done their jobs, and done them well. Only vague notions of Dougal's actions had so far made it to the outside world. Whispers of _inappropriate workplace talk_ and _propositioning female employees_ had leaked after the first of the women had served Mack with a sexual harassment lawsuit. By the time the media had picked up on it, she and the two others who came forward after had signed ironclad NDAs, prohibiting the disclosure of further details in exchange for hefty settlements.

"Let me ask ye, Colum, and think on it hard." Jamie gripped the edge of Colum's mahogany desk and leaned over it, sick to his stomach as he posed the question. "Do ye really think there are only three?" When he didn't answer, Jamie continued. "All it will take is one woman who decides yer hush money isna worth her silence. And when the full details come out, ye'll have a lot more to worry ower than the value of the company."

His uncle's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Pink cheeks and the bloodless line of his mouth further spoke to his agitation. Looking into his uncle's face -- the hard set of his milky gray eyes, the ticking of the vein at his temple -- Jamie saw the same answer written there. So when Colum again insisted on waiting before taking drastic action, he wasn't even surprised.

Enraged, yes. But not surprised.

Mounting anger set his pulse hammering through his chest. Pushing off the desk with a _hmph_ , Jamie crossed his arms and began to pace again. Neither man spoke, both fuming.

For months, he'd fielded calls and sat in meetings to discuss "the image problem." He'd crafted the press releases and negotiated with suppliers and customers, insisting that Mack understood the gravity of what had transpired and would never allow such a thing to happen again. Meaningless words, so far as Jamie was concerned. For all he'd spent that time behind closed doors trying to steer Colum toward more decisive action, he knew he would run out of air to breathe before he'd see a Mackenzie yield.

All in an effort to save Mack from the iceberg that was Dougal Mackenzie and insulate a sexual predator from the consequences of his vile misdeeds. Every day, guilt and shame writhed in Jamie's stomach over his part in keeping the Mack brand afloat.

It was a crazy man who willingly remained on a sinking ship.

"If ye wilna take steps to hold the man accountable," Jamie spoke suddenly, turning toward Colum, "then I resign effective immediately."

Colum stood from his seat, groaning from his advanced arthritis, and narrowed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was sharp as steel. "Ye'd abandon yer _family_ so easily, family who's supported ye when ye had naught but their own kindness tae sustain ye?"

The words should've riled him, but for the first time in a long while, he felt calm. Tension eased from his face and shoulders. Not so long ago, he'd needed the job. For the money, yes, but also for the purpose. Early on, knowing that his uncles depended upon him, had taken a gamble on him had been all that had got him out of his bed each morning.

Now, though, the same job that had pulled him from the depths threatened to shove him back into them. He should've left ages ago, the moment he'd realized his father wouldn't have been proud of the work he was doing or the company he was supporting.

And he had more people whose pride he yearned for now. Jamie closed his eyes for a moment, and hers looked back at him. Peace enveloped him like a blanket, and he knew he'd do whatever he needed to be a man worthy of her.

He clasped his hands before him and looked into Colum's gaze. "I'll always be grateful to ye for reachin' out tae me and givin' me a chance, Uncle. But I canna be a part of this any longer. It's eatin' away at my soul, and honestly it's just no' worth it anymore. No' when the both of ye are more concerned with...wi' image and money than yer own honor and integrity."

"Yer contract is through February," Colum growled. "Ye leave now, and ye'll have penalty clauses tae pay. And ye _will_ pay them, lad."

A hollow laugh bubbled from Jamie's chest as he turned toward the door. "And that's the difference 'tween you and me, Uncle," Jamie said. "I happen to ken some things matter more than money."

For the rest of his life, Jamie knew, he'd relish the sublime combination of fury and confusion on Colum's face as he shut the door on him for the final time.

#

Lungs and legs burning, Claire panted as she willed herself to maintain her speed. Fingers dug into the handle of the pram she pushed before her. Vibrations tingled up from her wheels and through her body as she rolled along the paved path at the neighborhood park. Winter was fast approaching, and she knew these skating days were numbered.

Skating was supposed to be a time of relaxation, yet the last seventy-six minutes had been anything but. Sweat dripped down her face even in the cool Edinburgh air as her mind flipped through the menu of items she could cook moderately well.

The _short_ menu.

Not for the first time since extending the offer, Claire wished she'd had the good sense to suggest a night out for the occasion. She wondered if takeout would be appropriate if it were from a nice enough restaurant...

"Mummy, you're too _slow_!" came a disgruntled voice from the carriage ahead of her.

Chuckling and rolling her eyes, Claire slowed them to a full stop. She put on the brake before hovering around to the front of the pram. Quinn lounged on her side, her bent legs creating a canyon of the fuzzy purple blanket wrapped about her. She clutched her favorite stuffed giraffe in the crook of her elbow, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. Wild dark curls stuck out from the lilac beanie she wore. Drowsy lids drooped over her eyes, and her brow was furrowed with annoyance.

Claire wanted to hug her to her chest and never stop squeezing.

"Mummy's _tiiiired_ , lovey," she whined with an exaggerated pout as she squatted. "How about you give me a push for a while? Would that work?"

The crease between her tiny eyebrows eased as she smiled. Giggling, Quinn shook her head.

" _No_?" Claire said, aghast. She reached in and tickled at her daughter's belly, high-pitched squeals echoing in the still, late afternoon air. "No, you won't let your Mummy take a break in the pram, then?"

Gasping for breath, Quinn shook her head again. "No, _Mummys_ push!"

With a grin, she desisted her tickle attack and planted a loud, wet kiss on Quinn's cheek. "Right you are, pet. _Fine_ , then, I'll keep pushing." Sitting back and balancing on her toe stops, Claire checked her watch. 3:47. They should head back to the flat soon; she didn't like to be skating with Quinn as the sun set. Plus they were due at John and Hector's for supper tonight.

Claire pecked her girl again on the cheek before standing and resuming her post. She took the brakes off the pram and, with a grunt of effort, picked up momentum again so that her wheels and Quinn's ran smoothly.

If only the cogs of her brain would work just as well.

#

" _You_ offered to cook?"

She'd have been offended at Hector's incredulity had she not understood the root of his astonishment. John eyes were glassed over and his cheeks pink from the wine in his hand. He sat silent with a smirk on his face as his husband continued on.

"You, who nearly burned the house down on two separate birthdays trying to bake your uncle a cake?"

"And whose failed attempt at an engagement dinner for us resulted in two days of food poisoning," John put in.

Hector nodded and took a sip from his own glass. "You're likely the only mother the Royal Infirmary childcare staff has ever requested 'stick to store-bought' after the kids wouldn't even go near your Christmas biscuits your first year here."

"At least they were already in a hospital," John added with a chortle.

Claire leveled the sniggering men with a stern glare but allowed them their fun at her expense. It was hard to do anything else when they hadn't even needed to exaggerate the stories to drive their point home. "If you two are quite finished, some _advice_ would be appreciated."

"My advice would've been to not promise the man dinner," John murmured into his glass.

"Thank you _very_ much, Captain Arsehat." She pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling a deep breath. "Anything that will help without the use of time travel?"

Hector leaned forward, dark eyes still glinting with mirth but face slightly more serious. "What does he like to eat, then?"

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she shrugged. "He doesn't seem picky, but I haven't exactly chatted up his mum and gotten the family recipes from her yet."

"Haggis!" John suddenly exclaimed, palm striking the table for emphasis. "I've yet to meet a Scotsman who doesn't like haggis."

She ran her fingers through her curls, pulling at the roots as she hung her head between her elbows resting on the table. "Yes, haggis. Because if I can manage to give us all debilitating food poisoning with Chicken Florentine, dealing with sheep innards wouldn't be at all dangerous."

"That'd be a weapon more than a dish," Hector agreed in a matter-of-fact tone. Claire groaned and curled in tighter. Hector's comforting grasp on her shoulder barely registered. "You're putting too much pressure on the whole thing. It doesn't have to be fancy. No need to put on airs for the man."

"Right," John agreed through his giggling. "Don't mislead the poor sod. Let him see what he's in for if he sticks around."

Before Claire could speak, Hector had pulled the wine glass from John's hand and set it on the other side of the table. Halting John's sputtering protestations with a look, Hector ran a hand through his chestnut hair. "Helpful commentary only. Lay off the sauce and help, or go watch the ending of _Moana_ for the twenty-second time and let the adults speak."

John's eyes slid over to Claire, whose breathing had picked up with rising anger. His face softened then. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't always know when to shut my big mouth."

The warmth of indignation ebbed from her face and chest, and she gave him a small smile of forgiveness. They three fell into silence, all thinking.

"Tomorrow's Friday, isn't it?" Hector finally asked.

"Last I checked, Friday still comes after Thursday, yes."

Tentative excitement exuded from his tone as he sat straighter in his seat. "You and Quinn do pizza nights on Fridays, don't you?"

"Yes, but I think ordering in pizza--"

"Don't order," Hector interrupted. "Make them yourselves."

"Have you not been paying attention? _I cannot cook_."

"No, he's right," John jumped in, all jesting gone. Wide brown eyes beamed with eagerness. Claire opened her mouth to argue, but he raised a finger. She sank into her seat and motioned for him to continue. "Buy the ingredients precooked, so that worry's taken care of. They even sell personal pizza crusts now, oven-ready. All you'd have to do is pile on the sauce and toppings and stick it in the oven."

"And set a timer," Hector added. "Maybe two. Then _take them out_ when the timer dings."

She bobbed her head back and forth slowly, considering. It should be fairly easy. Quinn could even help. She'd love that. Her lips tugged up at the corners thinking of Quinn standing on her stool with Hector earlier that evening, stirring and pouring, engulfed in the too-big apron and the most beautiful grin plastered to her face.

Still, nerves and doubts nipped at her heels. "Would that not be a little...underwhelming?" 

John shook his head. "From what you've told us, I don't think he'll care about what you make. He cares who he's eating it with."

"And besides, he's coming over to meet Quinn," Hector said. "It's not really about impressing him. It's about seeing if they can be comfortable together."

As they descended into quietude once more, Claire could suddenly see it. She could see smiles and laughter and a kitchen messed with their efforts. And it felt right. Bubbles of anticipation fizzled beneath her skin like champagne, replacing the itch of anxiety that hadn't abated for days. She nodded once with a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," John said. He leaned across Hector to retrieve his wine glass, the conundrum at hand having been solved. He paused for a brief, gentle kiss before resuming his seat. Their eyes locked as he sat, smirks playing on their lips as their fingers entwined between their chairs. Claire watched with satisfaction and again thanked whatever power existed that her brother had found the one someone in all the world who fulfilled him.

When Hector finally looked toward Claire and asked for an update on the latest drama from work, she hoped in the deepest pit of her being that she'd found her someone, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew Jamie was going to quit his job fairly soon, so since I wanted to put out this quickie chapter for y'all, figured why not now. Plus now we have a better view of just what trouble Dougal has gotten them all into. 
> 
> I also really wanted to take a moment to really introduce Hector since we haven't seen him yet and how he foils to John. I love the gentle soul that came out of pantsing my way through this scene. 
> 
> Isthisclever.tumblr.com ;)


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